#like remember that post about how teaching a child about hell is kinda evil and then OP pointed out that it applies to Islam too?

[arseniccattails]

I suppose people seething about atheists, who claim that we only know how to criticize Christianity, want us to. What. Air our specific grievances with minority religions on a mostly Western platform, on main? Seriously? When you see us dancing around those details, it's often on purpose.

[newmainolddead]

yo im seeing some more 'adults are inappropriate to be in children's spaces like a kids show's fandom' and 'all adults interacting with children are inappropriate(/predatory)' and 'if you're an adult you have to tell everyone your age and if you don't you're predatory' stuff rn and like can we stop saying these things?

first of all it's not inherently inappropriate to be an adult

like just no

everyone who doesn't die as child becomes one and then stays one for their entire life

everyone

secondly, this narrative of 'every adult who talks to you is inherently evil' is kinda bad imo?

like irl, adults constantly are around children and teach them, like parents and teachers, and they also teach them for example what's appropriate and what isn't etc

and like i feel like we tend to forget that on the internet cause there's no adult supervision for children here like there is everywhere else, like there has been in a child's entire childhood for ages, and like reinforcing badly interpreted stranger danger narratives that make every single adult who knowingly interacts with you a predator doesn't make this better

like it's hard to actually figure out how appropriately someone is acting towards you, especially as a child, and on the internet, they're basically on their own with that if there's noone to turn to and most people here don't really tell there parents about 'this adult on tumblr'

and like im not saying every child should inherently trust every adult on the internet (Hell. No. do Not do that holy shit no) and a bit of distrust and scepticism is really good actually

but also stop framing it as a 'every child/minor who interacts with you is inherently good and not-predatory and every adult who interacts with you is inherently predatory' that is so bad

fyi, a minor can be predatory too and can groom you too, especially if you're on the younger side still

but also saying any adult is inherently evil and predatory for talking to children or being in a fandom (y'all just do not know fandom history sometimes jfc):

1) cuts off minors from adults and keeps them from having an adult they can somewhat trust and ask about stuff and confide in (and im talking about not-predatory adults cause believe it or not, pessimist, but those exist too), which can isolate them and keep them from getting help if someone who just doesn't/didn't tell them they're an adult is acting in a predatory with them

2) reinforces the ridiculous and dangerous idea that minors can't groom other, mostly younger, minors because it reinforces the idea that adults inherently do this by virtue of being an adult talking to a child (which,,, is not what predatory behaviour is. might write a handy guide on this later tbh cause i just realized some of y'all making these posts might just think that it is actually predatory behaviour to talk to a child unless you absolutely have to (being their parent or teacher)), and minors inherently don't (after all, they're minors, not adults, talking to minors) (adult = evil, child/minor = good)

which in combination makes me really nauseous tbh

and like im guessing most people who say these things are minors? cause i vaguely remember having similar ideas as kid (don't remember my childhood well enough for specific examples of my ideas tho sadly)

but like please, if you don't want adults to interact with you that's valid af, but don't make general statements like 'adults are inherently predatory'

also i know you mean well but some of y'all look like the 'there is no reason for anyone over the age of 21 to talk to anyone under 18' post (which is a bit older) and the 'if you're an adult and don't have your age in your bio you're inherently predatory' post (can't find a link to it rn, does anyone have that handy rn?)

on a side note:

please dni if you have adults in your dni. i can assure you this post is not about you or having adults in your dni, you can put in your dni whoever the hell you want no questions asked

but i would like you to not interact with this post because i am an adult, im turning 22 in four days, and i would find it rude of you to interact with me but tell me not to interact with you

(like in general don't interact with people you have in your dni?)

i am going to assume everyone who interacts with this post does not have adults in their dni and i might reply to you

[marril96]

Pretty in Pink

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena has had it with your disorganization and blatant lack of respect for witchcraft.

A/N: Based on this post by @gayarsonist

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian​

*****

It was the third time it happened this week.

Third bloody time!

Rowena was furious, fuming, face burning red as her hair — or it would be, if her hair weren't neon pink, glowing even in the bright fluorescent light of the bathroom.

"Y/N!" she shrieked like a banshee — worse, even — as soon as she got a glimpse of the monstrosity on her head in the mirror.

She didn't bother slipping on a robe or throwing on a towel — she ran out, arse-naked, blood boiling. Pissed off enough to take a life with a single glare.

She'd told you multiple times to take better care of your shite. Begged you, even, and she didn't beg. Not just anyone. But no matter how many times she asked and pleaded and shouted, you never seemed to get it in your pretty wee head.

"Wha—" Your mouth fell as she emerged from the hallway, jaw hanging in a big, long O. Your eyes bore into hers, swiped down to her body — her pale, bare body, still dripping from the shower, glistening in the light — and finally landed on her hair. A snort tore from your throat, undignified, filthy as that of a pig. "Oh, my god!"

Your laughter rang in Rowena's ears, a seemingly endless echo. She grit her teeth to hold back a growl more animal than human that threatened to break free. Squeezed her hands into fists so tight her knuckles flushed white as sheets. "This is not funny, Y/N!"

Your face grew serious for a moment, for a measly second before another fit of laughter took you over. "I think it's hilarious," you said, doubling over, tears sliding down the corners of your eyes. You couldn't help it — the more you looked at her, at her impossibly pink hair, the harder it was to control yourself. "I'm sorry."

You were not sorry.

"How many times have I told you to stop leaving your potions in the bathroom?" Rowena snapped.

Too many times. More than she could count. She would understand if magic were a novelty to you. But you were a natural-born witch. You'd always had magic. Rowena had been your mentor for five years, and your girlfriend for four — proper storage had been one of the first things she'd taught you.

And yet.

And yet.

You straight up refused to listen. Sometimes it felt as if she were speaking to a wall, though, at this point, Rowena was certain a wall would have retained the knowledge sooner.

It was easier to store potions in old shampoo and soap bottles, you always said. Why waste money on vials when you had perfectly good ones at home? Leaving them at random places around the house was just practical. Keeping them in a cupboard, as Rowena insisted, was old-fashioned. The bathroom, the living room, the bedroom — they all needed a potion or two, to liven them up. To make it clear to anyone who visited (though no one ever did) that there were witches living in this house.

It had never even occurred to you that you were messy.

It had occurred to Rowena. Multiple times over the years.

You shrugged.

Rowena stomped her foot angrily, fed up with your nonsense. Fed up with years — bloody years! — of it. What kind of witch lived like this, in this mess, in complete and utter disorganization, and saw no issue with it? What in hell was wrong with you?

What in hell was wrong with her for putting up with it?

Right.

She loved you. As reluctant as Rowena was to admit it, you had your good sides. You were kind to her — always had been, even back when she deserved not a sliver of it. You were there when she needed you. Held her without her having to utter a single word, without her having to plead for comfort. Showered her with love every single day.

Rowena couldn't have asked for anything — anyone — better, but still…

Why was it so hard for you to be a normal witch?

"It's not my fault," you said, trying — and failing, miserably so — to retain a serious face. "Maybe you should stop using the shampoo."

Rowena scowled. Wished she could find it in her to kill you for anyone else would surely be dead by now. "It's my bloody shampoo!"

"Oh."

Oh?

Oh?!

"Maybe you should stop reusing the bottles!" she snarled.

"It's much less wasteful this way," you said. "Besides, it's kinda cool."

"It is not 'cool' in any way, shape, or form. You are making a mockery of witchcraft."

You blinked. Snorted like a pig. "You're taking this way too seriously." Under your breath, you added, "For someone with bright pink hair."

"I'm taki—Are you joking?" Rowena said, outraged. Trying to ignore that last comment despite wanting to curse you out for the nerve alone. "Us witches have spent centuries rebuilding our reputation after our numbers dwindled during the trials, and this is what we get from witches today? Potions in shampoo bottles? Elixirs in bloody moisturizer containers?"

"I don't use moisturizer containers for—"

"That's besides the point!" She pointed a finger at you, nail bright red as her face. "You are a disgrace!"

Rowena wasn't sure what she expected. A sliver of self-reflection. A long, hard look at what you were doing. A promise you wouldn't do it anymore. Hell, even a simple nod in acknowledgment would have sufficed.

Out of everything, the last thing she thought you would do was burst into another fit of laughter.

Yet here you were, laughing as if you'd just heard the funniest joke in your entire life. Face buried in your hands to hide it, to hide yourself from Rowena's murderous glare. To protect yourself from judgment you knew would come your way.

"You know," you said, barely containing yourself to let the words out, "this would be a lot more epic if you had clothes on." An undignified snort. "And if your hair wasn't pink."

Rowena gaped. Fixed her stare on you, cold and deadly. Some audacity you had to talk to her like that. People revered her. Feared her. Thought twice before pissing her off. And here you were, mocking her to her face.

She'd given you too much freedom. From the moment you'd met, she'd never enforced her unspoken rules. Had never set boundaries and demanded respect. She supposed she always knew you were more than just another young witch tagging along, begging to learn her tricks. There was something different about you. Something — gods, she hated to admit it — special.

You fell in love with her, and had, in turn, taught her to love you back. Had shown her that it was okay, that it didn't have to hurt. That it was a strength rather than a weakness.

And now, when she was in deep, you laughed at her.

Rowena sighed. The things we allowed for love…

"There is no talking to you, is there?" she asked, completely and utterly defeated. She could teach you magic. She could teach you complicated spells and incantations, but she couldn't teach you how to properly store your potions. She could never make a proper, dignified witch out if you.

"I just don't get why you're making this an issue," you said.

Rowena could tell you didn't. You truly understood nothing. Had no respect for tradition. Witches today, honestly… "I'm—" She stopped herself before falling into another monologue you clearly didn't care for. Cleared her throat. Lowered her voice before saying, "Forget it. It's fine."

What point was there for arguing, for telling you — again — when you were clearly intent on not listening? You'd set your mind on doing things your way, and there was no changing it.

My stubborn wee lamb, Rowena thought, to her surprise, affectionately, cursing herself for being unable to stay mad at you. You were too stubborn for your own good. Too bloody strong-willed. A trait she admired, but, gods, it was frustrating to argue with you.

Maybe that was what she needed. Someone who wouldn't bow down to her. Someone who would stay strong and fight back against her silly demands, who would keep her feet firmly on the ground. Rowena couldn't deny she'd learned a lot from you. You'd helped her change. Helped her grow. Helped her become a better, kinder person. She would forever be grateful for that.

Just…

Why did you have to be such a bloody child?

"Could you at least put labels on your… creations?" she asked. Hoped with everything she had at least this one tradition you would be willing to obey.

What kind of a witch sorted her potions by bottles instead of names?

"Sure," you said.

Rowena breathed out in relief. "Now you are going to fix this." She pointed to her hair.

You chuckled. She was beginning to hate that sound. "Why me?"

"Because you did it."

"You're the one who took the wrong bottle."

"And you are the one who used the old bottle of my shampoo and left it in the bathroom."

"Fine," you conceded. A sly smirk bloomed on your mouth. "Can I take a picture first?"

"You cannot!" Rowena exclaimed, angry, offended at the mere thought. It was horrifying enough to have hair that glowed in the dark. But to have a picture of it? She shuddered. Who would want to remember this monstrosity?

You would. Your laugh said as much, and so did your hands as they reached for your phone and snapped a quick picture.

Rowena was fuming. "I am going to hex you!"

"No, you're not," you said nonchalantly.

She grunted like a trapped animal. You were right. She would not hex you. She would not do anything but glare and pout, and once you wrapped her up in your embrace, that would cease, as well.

Because she loved you. She was a fool in love, and she hated and loved it at the same time.

Some scary witch she was.

.....

Tags: @werewolfbarbie​ @oswinthestrange​ @songofthecagedmoose​ @apurdyfulmind​ @getthesalt-sam​ @metallihca​ @salembitchtrials​ @jay-eris​ @hellsmother​ @elizabeth-effie​ @shadowgirl-vsb​ @rowenaswife​ @wonderifshelikesroses​ @xfireandsin​ @liddell-alien​ @hotdiggitydammit​ @lae-lae​ @darkhumorsblog​ @angel7376​ @cherrypierowena​ @evil-regal-vampiress​ @hellbentredhead​ @angel-e-v-a​ @a-queen-and-her-throne​ @carryon-doctor-lock​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @theeasterbilby​ @midnight-lestrange​ @osterhagen​ @impala-1979​ @gracib16​ @feelsandotps​

[divine-motion]

traditional doodles photographed by my phone bc i don’t have a scanner, featuring... Captain Cross time :)) drawing Cross was surprisingly fun, especially the last one. making Alex a manlet was the best decision i’ve ever made. tiny gremlin virus.

tbh i never liked Cross that much bc he’s just another Military Guy to me, like i didn’t Dislike him but he didn’t catch my attention that much. however, if he had more of an arc, much like Pretty Much Every Other Character, he could’ve been a lot more interesting to me! as usual, More Thoughts under Keep Reading bc my rambling is incurable!! it’s a real long one this time.

to make Cross stand out more to me, there are some significant changes i’d make for him

instead of being a grown-ass old man who didn’t see Blackwatch’s whole Evilness until Randall decided to up and drop a nuke on a city, i think i’d go more to how Blackwatch seems to have a lot of... creepy indoctrination-y stuff going on with their creed and everything, so maybe have Blackwatch train children (perhaps ‘confiscated’ from infections like Hope) to become special soldiers for hunting Runners, and have Cross be one of them? that way i can excuse him being military and make him breaking away from Blackwatch more significant because he’d be overcoming a whole life of basically brainwashing. 

i’d also want to go into his past a bit more as someone who killed a Runner, considering how he treats Alex - not calling Alex an ‘it’, being willing to work with him... does he treat Runners the same? he tells Alex that he’s not human on their first call, so are Runners often confused on their existence as a living virus and bio-weapon? did the Runner he killed think it was human? sorry these things are just very interesting to me, this might be immediately disregarded as rubbish if it was ever stated to Cross that Alex thought he was human. anywho, to summarize, giving Cross trauma will make me like him

he’s japanese (Robert Cross was a name he was given in Child Soldier Training Camp), he’s gay, he’s old, and he’s tall as hell. what the fuck. how’d he get so tall. everyone has to crane their necks to look him in the eye. he’s a little embarrassed about his height though! accidentally hits his head on door frames all the time

for some reason or other he has to go with Alex to Ragland’s clinic bc they need everyone’s skills for the final missions or something, and the trio evolves to a squad!! though it has its hiccups.

Alex: so do you two remember Captain Cross Bradley: captain of Blackwatch, the people who’ve been watching my every move since i left GENTEK? Dana: and the guy who nearly killed you by putting an intelligent cancer on your back? Alex: yeah that’s him. so it turns out he’s the one who’s been telling me about the Bloodtox and about the infection going underground, so we’re friends now. is it ok if i bring him here so you can hear what he has to say? Bradley: Dana: Alex: Dana: ... it’s in times like this i actually wish you had inherited my older brother’s paranoia, Alex

obviously Bradley has a lot of reason to be mistrusting of Cross, but he can relate to realizing that the people you work for are fucked up and respects that Cross at least finally went against them. they have Old Traumatized Gays solidarity

Dana is the Most Suspicious of Cross, which is entirely fair on her part, especially with Alex being too trusting for his own good. she does eventually warm up to him slightly (kinda completely when they find out about his past). i have some thoughts that maybe he teaches her some stuff on how to fight and that sets up Dana as potentially being to fight in Re-Written Prototype 2? not committed to it though, just a small idea

i like having Alex be the opposite of Dr. Mercer and the best way to do that is to have him be overly trusting and pretty forgiving when it comes down to it. Cross is helping him now so that means they’re friends of sorts. it’s kind of a weird friendship where Cross has trouble seeing Alex as just Alex and not the Runners he’s known and/or killed, and he ends up being kind of unnerved by how altruistic, forgiving, and empathetic Alex can be. (yeah i called Alex forgiving despite that he starts out wanting revenge. i can write a post about that but not now)

i do imagine that Cross is just completely oblivious to the fact that he was indoctrinated until he becomes part of the Squad and talks to “normal” people for the first time in his life that it suddenly becomes clear

Cross: [describes his training and childhood] Dana: ... oh my god you were a child soldier?? Cross: what?? no, that’s not it at all, it’s just that us blackwatch soldiers of the special training program specifically for taking down runners requires extensive training starting at a young age, but it’s not like we first have to use a gun until we’re six and-- Cross: Cross: Cross: oh my god i was a child soldier

if he really has to die then it wouldn’t be off-screen and honestly i don’t think i’d have him die anyways. in Prototype 2 him and Bradley are just retired old gay men chilling in hawaiian shirts. also Cross discovers therapy

ok wow this post has been going on for too long. sorry!! i don’t know how to shut up, unfortunately u-u

[iloveyouthree-thousand]

Stark: An American Musical

So this is an idea I dreamed up a while ago: a series of loosely connected one-shots based on the songs from Hamilton. I have no explanation for it other than, like, it sounded fun? And I kinda want to rip your hearts out with It's Quiet Uptown. Pre-Endgame. Post CACW.

Track #1 // Anthony Stark

"Holy mother of—you bastard, orphan, son of a—good God that hurts," Rhodes hissed through through his teeth as Tony tightened the metal device around his leg.

"I thought cripples weren't supposed to feel pain," Tony said, feeling Rhodey's nails sink into his skin, "and didn't you go through special ops training? Shouldn't this feel like nothing to you?"

"You want to try it on and see how it feels?"

"If it means I get to be the one digging my ridiculously long fingernails into your arm, then maybe. Seriously buddy, when's the last time you trimmed these talons?"

Rhodes dug his nails in deeper.

"Fu—okay, that was uncalled for," he winced as he rubbed his arm, "and you know what else was uncalled for? The orphan comment. Little soon, don't you think?"

"It's been over thirty years."

Tony frowned, now working on tightening the device on the other leg.

"God I'm old. Which means you're even older. FRIDAY, remind me to look at nursing homes for my geriatric pal here later this week." He grinned as Rhodey narrowed his eyes and smacked him across the chest.

"Just because I'm a paraplegic doesn't mean I won't kick your ass Tony."

He just laughed. "Alright buddy, all done. How does that feel?"

His friend stood up and took a hesitant walk down the hallway.

"You know, I feel like I should write down the date, maybe put it in a scrapbook. Rhodey's first steps. This is such a proud father moment for me. It's exciting for you, too, of course, but mostly for me."

Rhodes rolled his eyes. The injury was still fresh, and he was still coming to terms with his decreased mobility. It was hard, for both of them, but they had hope.

Tony had been working on the contraption, forgetting to sleep at times, designing and creating in a guilt-ridden, coffee-driven haze. A smirk never failed to light up Tony's eyes, but Rhodey would never not notice the dark circles drooping just below. He knew better.

He also knew better than to try and tear Tony away from a project, especially one driven by the overwhelming sense of responsibility he never seemed to shake.

"Save the proud father moments for your protégé. Don't think I haven't seen the new models of his suit lying all over this complex while mine, I might add, is still parachute-less. Traitorous bastard."

Rhodes had slid carefully onto the floor, the act of walking taking a lot more energy now that his limbs were rather uncooperative. It killed Tony a little bit, to see his best friend drained from a task that had once been so menial. At least it was progress.

He wordlessly joined him on the ground.

"Actually, I think it was bastard, orphan, son-of-a-bitch," he corrected. "I think that'd be a good title for my autobiography. Maybe I'll write it on my headstone... actually, that's definitely what I want. Make a note of that for my funeral plans. And as long as we're making plans, I want you to give the eulogy."

If there was a look for 'you've finally crossed the threshold to insanity', it was emanating off of Rhodes right now.

"You must be out of your damn mind."

Tony feigned hurt, pressing his hand over the spot where his arc reactor used to rest.

"Why? Because you think you'll die first? Come on, I've got a death wish and, like, zero regard for danger. You live ten years longer than I do, minimum."

"I don't have a parachute."

"Exactly! You didn't even have a parachute and you're still a living, whining, pain in the ass."

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Can't Pepper give the damn eulogy?"

Tony's face twisted exaggeratedly, like that was the most absurd comment he'd heard in his entire life.

"What, and put her through even more than she'd already have gone through? We both know I'm going to go out in spectacular, gut-wrenching fashion, don't tell me you'd actually make her get up there and give a whole speech after that. She'll have enough on her plate."

"Oh, so she'll be too emotionally vulnerable but, sure, let's make your best friend get up there and do it instead."

Tony's mouth pulled to the side of his face. "Careful, pal. I never fully committed to you being my best friend. I do live with Pepper, tell her all my dark, dirty secrets. You're easily a close second, though."

His eyes narrowed in a glare.

"You say something stupid like that again and I'll be the reason you're having a funeral."

"Rhodey, you know I love you both—just in different ways." A smirk was practically eating his face, but his friend was having none of it.

"Oh yeah? Who'd you give a suit to, Tony? I don't see Pepper up there kicking ass next to you."

"One—if I recall correctly, you stole the suit. Two—I'm pretty sure Pepper has killed at least half of the guys I've gone up against. And three—if we're basing friendships off of suits, as you mentioned earlier, then Peter Parker is my best friend... speaking of, he should be here any minute."

Tony lifted his watch to his face, the screen lighting up as he checked the time.

"Remind me again why the fifteen-year-old is always over here now?"

"He's helpful. He helped me design that," he pointed at the metal device Tony had been painfully tightening onto Rhodey's leg a few minutes earlier. "It's much more ergonomic than the last one."

Rhodes raised an eyebrow. "The kid helped you design this?"

"Don't doubt him, he's practically a genius—probably smarter than you."

He punched Tony in the arm.

"I went to M.I.T. too, remember? Degree in Aerospace Engineering? Give me some credit, man."

"Huh. See, I have vague memories of that, but I was busy having fun in college—,"

"You were busy destroying your liver."

"I was living out my glory days."

"Oh, trust me, there was nothing glorious about puking all over our bathroom every other weekend."

Tony pressed his lips together. "Yea... let's maybe not bring that up in front of Pete."

A look that Tony couldn't decipher passed Rhodey's face. "What exactly is the deal with you and this kid? Did some of that fun in college have some permanent, teenaged consequences?"

His friend had noticed several different trials of red and blue Spider-Man suits lying around for a few weeks now, but he hadn't questioned it because Tony had always outfitted the team and, well, the team was pretty sparse as of late.

Of course, Tony still had a new prototype for Captain America's shield in the works and some upgraded arrows for Clint lying around on a workbench somewhere, among other things.

He could only work on them for so long, though, before the gadgets just became glaring reminders of the faces that were now absent from the Compound.

Making suits for Spider-Man kept Tony busy. It made him feel productive. Worthwhile. He wasn't left with such an empty feeling in his chest.

Tony scoffed. "Jesus, Rhodey, he isn't mine. Thank God. I've already screwed with his life enough." He took his tinted glasses off and fiddled with them in his hands. "I just found the kid online, but no one was going to take him seriously in his homemade Halloween costume, so I gave him a little upgrade."

Rhodey might've believed that, if it weren't for the Midtown High sweatshirt draped across one of the couches or the newspaper clippings of the spandex-wearing superhero clandestinely taped to Tony's desk.

"That still doesn't explain why he's over here all the time."

"I was just going to give him the suit and let him go back to doing his own thing... but he managed to break all the security locks I set in a little over a week and then decided to single-handedly take on Sam Wilson's evil alter-ego."

"You gave a child genius a million-dollar toy and you didn't think he'd play with it?"

Tony turned to face him before deadpanning, "I don't have a lot of experience with teenagers, okay? It was stupid, I know, but I'm trying to make up for that by having him over here—letting him have a say in the design process and actually teaching him how to use it—because he has little regard for my built-in training protocols. And he's good help."

Rhodey was about to ask if Peter's more frequent visits had anything to do with the quiet silence that now haunted the compound whenever he or Pepper were out, but he was interrupted by one-hundred and forty-one pounds of pure excitement practically bounding out of the elevator.

"Mr. Stark! So there was this guy on the subway today who tried to swipe a phone from this other guy, and I saw the whole thing happen but I couldn't do anything about it because he was too far away and I couldn't squeeze through all the people, but—oh, h-hey Mr.—Mr. Col. Rhodes, Sir."

Tony looked amused.

"Pete, I'd like you to my best pal Mr. Col. Rhodes, also known as Rhodey, also known as War Machine... it is War Machine, right? We're officially over the Iron Patriot thing?"

He ignored Tony, pushing against his shoulder to stand up, before reaching out to shake Peter's hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Peter." He shot his attention over to the other man in the room. "And what happened to 'Pepper's my best friend', huh, Tony?"

Tony held out a hand to Peter, who obligingly helped him up to his feet, while maintaining eye contact with Rhodes.

"I mean, you are the one giving my eulogy."

"Am not."

"Rhodey, come on, you give the best speeches. Remember that one you gave in like 2009? At the White House? FRIDAY, play the speech."

"No. FRI—,"

"Playing Colonel Rhodes' Presidential Medal of Honor Introduction Speech."

Peter stood awkwardly in front of the two men, terribly confused, as a familiar voice rang out over the speakers in the compound.

"I've been asked over and over again if I ever suspected my best friend was a superhero. The answer to that is—I've always known that he was different, and not just because he's a hell of a lot smarter than the rest of us. He grew up in the legacy of Howard Stark. No one was surprised when he turned out to be a genius—at fifteen, they placed him in advanced classes at M.I.T-,"

"FRIDAY, mute."

"FRIDAY, override."

"...but there's more to Tony than just brilliance. He's a self-starter. The only thing standing between him and what he wants is himself. When he saw his future dripping down the drain in Afghanistan, brought to his knees by weapons his company he'd created, left with nothing but ruined pride—something new inside broke through. Anyone else might've been dead in a week but Tony—he wouldn't let himself go out like that."

"FRIDAY, stop."

"FRIDAY, don't even think about it."

"...he put a pencil to paper and with nothing more than some scrap metal and the help of a new friend he plotted his way out of hell. He overcame certain death in a cave, but he didn't stop with self-preservation. He rewrote the game in the defense private sector. He saved his own life and then he saved countless others, and because of him, the world will never be the same."

"FRIDAY—," Rhodes threatened.

Tony cut him off. "Oh, come on, this is the best part." The recording kept playing.

"I know you already know his name, but it is my honor to present the medal of honor to my best friend, Tony Stark... Or, as many of you may know him: Iron Man."

"FRIDAY, off," Rhodes said, and Tony finally didn't protest. "Tell me you don't keep that around just to boost your ego. You know I only did that because the President asked me to. It wasn't for you."

"You keep telling yourself that."

The two men kept bantering, but throughout it all, Peter was eerily quiet. It only took a few seconds of his silence for Tony to realize something was up.

"Hey Pete, you look like you swallowed a frog. Everything all right up there?" he asked, raising his hand to gently pat him on the head.

The kid shook as if coming out of a trance. "Yea—yea, everything... everything's fine, it's just... aren't eulogies, like, the things you say at funerals?"

Rhodey answered, "Yes, they are. See, Tony, he thinks it's weird too."

Peter still looked like he had gotten kicked in the shins.

"No... I mean yeah, kinda, but that's not—Mr. Stark... are you dying?"

Tony looked confused for a second before... oh.

"God, kid, no—I'm not dying. I was just trying to mess with Rhodey here, I didn't mean to—."

"Oh thank God," Peter said, visibly relaxing, "don't scare me like that."

Then, he did something that made Rhodey nearly slide to the floor. Again.

His deceptively small arms wrapped around Tony's torso, and Tony hesitated for half of a second before tentatively and quickly returning the gesture.

For a second, it was a picture-worthy moment. But the second passed and the moment came to an end as both parties seemed to realize instantaneously that they were crossing boundaries.

"Right," Tony coughed, "Peter, why don't you show Rhodey some of the new features you dreamed up. I'm going to go get... some coffee. Try not to talk his ear off, he's the only one who still sometimes listens to me around here."

James Rhodes had known Tony for what felt like an eternity. He fought with him. Trusted him. And if the situation ever arose, he would die for the damn fool.

But the man who exited the room as if the soles of his shoes had caught fire, a wisp of crimson warmth on his cheeks, looked like a new man entirely.

There were a million things he suddenly wanted to ask Tony, a million places to prod, and he couldn't wait to do exactly that after the boy returned to his apartment in Queens for the night.

Right now, though, the kid was showing him the new thrusters Tony had built into the heels of the devices.

"...and if you do this, then the repulsors activate—,"

Peter pressed a button, and the chorus of T.N.T. came blaring through the room as the repulsors sent Rhodey crashing into the wall behind him.

Tony sauntered back into the room, a cup of coffee in hand and a snort on his face as he surveyed the scene. A flustered Peter Parker tried to hold back a laugh as he attempted to help a cussing, high-ranking military official up from a muddled heap on the floor.

"Oh yea. There's a bit of a learning curve. You'll figure it out," he garbled, mouth stuffed with a muffin that he had hidden in his other hand, "For now... consider this recompense for the orphan comment." He clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder, ushering him toward the shop, his friend still lying in an annoyed mess on the ground.

He'd help him later, of course, but the look on Rhodey's face gave him a pure, childlike joy that few things could. If Rhodes kicked his ass later—paraplegia and all—it would have been worth it a hundred times over.

So he led a mildly concerned Peter Parker away, chuckling as his best friend's voice faded into the background.

"Don't you even think about walking away without teaching me how to use these things. Tony... Tony Stark you better not be walking away from me. Don't be a dick. Come back here, you heartless, pompous, snowflake... I know you know I'll get you back for this... quit acting like a teenaged punk... Anthony Stark!"

Tony laughed under his breath and kept walking. Rhodes always came up with the nicest things to call him.

[definitelynotaminion]

Alright, send me prompts. Preferably Naruto

And preferably femslash because I’m trying to get Bingo on my sapphic september card but I kind of need a break

PROMPT LIST http://blackkatmagic.tumblr.com/post/176501846800/caydenhathaway-ok-but-you-know-what-trope-i

Accidental sex

“Anything you can do I can do better INCLUDING THAT” sex

“You played a prank on me and now I’m going to play one on you except oops this accidentally got hot” sex

“You made an inaccurate assumption about *insert sexual or sexuality misnomer here* and I’m going to teach you the truth” sex

“You think you’re so smart so I’m going to teach you a lesson” sex

“Do you think I look good/hot/provocative in this? Wait is this turning you on???” sex

“You don’t know what *insert kink here* is and I’m really bad at explaining things and now we’re doing it oops” sex

“I bet I can dance/move/act like that and I don’t even have to be a dancer/stripper/actor/whatever wait are you turned on?” sex

“I lost a bet to you and the circumstances were supposed to be a joke but I took them seriously” sex

“You were joking about something and I took you seriously” sex

“You seem to think that __ won’t feel good and I intend to prove you wrong” sex

“You’re intentionally getting under my skin so I threaten to spank you/playfully spank you and now you look like you just got banged against a wall” sex

“I didn’t know you were a sub and when I called you a good boy/girl you almost cried” sex

“I didn’t know you were a dom and when I called you Sir/Ma'am you almost jumped me” sex

“Playing a prank on our freinds to make them think we’re a couple and now we’re in bed together” sex

“I’m fixing you *insert appliance/furniture/house thing hee* for you and now I’m sweaty and half naked and you’re drooling” sex

“I noticed the way you were watching me eat this popsicle so I purposely started making it an inuendo and now we’re both hot and bothered” sex

“Haha that thing they do in movies/porn/online is so corny like no way that’s actually hot haha oops it is” sex

“Freinds can totally watch porn together and nothing can happen…. no they can’t” sex

“I showed you *insert sexual thing here* as a joke but you’re actually turned on” sex

“You found my sex toys and I teasingly offered to demonstrate them welp here we are” sex

“I started pretending to dirty talk to you an hour ago and it stopped being pretending 58 minutes ago” sex

“All I’m saying is that I’ve been told I’m a good lay, wanna find out?” sex

“You said you don’t like __ but I bet the people you were with just don’t know how to do it, I, however, have experience and bet I could make you like it” sex

“We platonically slept together last night because of circumstances and we both woke up horny” sex

“This started as a tickle fight and it isn’t tickling anymore” sex

“We’re just bros being bros and doing something 100% platonic but somehow we’re turning eachother on because of not-so-burried feelings for eachother and we can’t make it stop” sex

Accidental sex ok?

OR: Other prompts. I’m not picky.

Actually here’s another list from Kat’s blog

Prompt List of Sarcasm

13 September 2018

SOURCE

eternalmikaelson:

“Well, what can I say? I’m a badass.”

“Define normal.”

“Do I get bonus points if I act like I care?”

“Just remember if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English.”

“Don’t look for any redeeming qualities. I don’t have any.”

“It’s amazing how fast the world can go from bad to total shit storm.”

“I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass.”

“And you wonder why you’re still single.”

“Remind me to kill you. Please.”

“I’m listening to you. I’m just not paying attention.”

“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“Were you dropped on your head?”

“She’s crazy. And just when you think you’ve reached the bottom of her craziness, there’s a crazy underground garage.”

“She may seem like lollipops and rainbows but I bet behind close doors she’s latex and whips.”

“If my day gets any worse, I’m asking hell if they’re having an exchange program.”

“Sorry. I don’t speak skank.”

“If I survive, can I go home?”

“My middle finger salutes you.”

“This is a whole new level of moronic, even for you.”

“I don’t think I could ever stab someone. I mean, let’s be honest. I can barely get the straw in the Capri Sun.”

“I don’t have enough middle fingers to let you know how I feel.”

“Insanity run in my family. It practically gallops.”

“Oh darling. Go buy a brain.”

“Somebody’s cranky.” “Somebody needs to shut up.”

“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

“All due respect, but that’s a bunch of crap.”

“I am one of the few people in the world who can murder you and leave no forensic evidence behind.”

“Excuse me. I have to go make a scene.”

“What did I tell you about calling her/him the devil?” “That it’s offensive to the devil?”

“I heard that!” “You were supposed to!”

“I need therapy after this.”

“You didn’t get in trouble for lying. You got in trouble for lying badly.”

“I’m not weird. I am limited edition.”

“I turned out liking you a lot more that I originally planned.”

“I think you’re weird.” “I think you’re boring.”

“If history repeats itself, I am so getting a dinosaur.”

“You seem somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?”

“I’m afraid I’ve been thinking…” “A dangerous pastime.”

“I’d explain it to you, but you’re brain would explode.”

“Wow, there’s a big surprise. I think I’m going to have a heart attack and die from surprise.”

“I’m gonna hit you so hard, it’ll make you ancestors dizzy.”

“Even when we were kids, I always kicked your ass!”

“Sarcasm is the body’s natural reaction to stupidity.”

“You’re good. A monster pain in the ass… but you’re good.”

“Well, excuse me, psychic wonder!”

“The female of the species is more deadly than the male.”

“Don’t look in her eyes, she might steal your soul.”

“She’s hot, but she’s evil.”

“Do I regret it? Yes. Would I do it again? Probably.”

“I already know that I’m going to hell. At this point it’s really go big or go home.”

“Go on, knock his teeth down his throat.”

“You’re going to burn in a very special level of hell. A level they reserve for child molesters, animal abusers and people who talk at the theater.”

“What’s the point in screaming? No one’s listening anyway.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m a damsel doing damage.”

“So stick that in your juice box and suck it.”

“Never take life seriously. No one ever comes out alive anyway.”

“This place hold a lot of memories for me. Some bad, some… No. No, no, all bad.”

“A little gasoline… blowtorch… no problem.”

“Good, bad, I’m the one with the gun.”

“I know you can’t kill anybody, ‘cause I can’t kill anybody.”

“You’re insane, but you might also be brilliant.”

“What you call insanity, I call inspiration.”

“Sometimes I question my sanity. Occasionally it replies.”

“Why should we date?” “Because we are attracted to each other.” “I am attracted to pie, but I do not feel the need to date pie.”

“Why does everyone assume the worst of me.” “It saves time.”

“I like you. You’re different.”

“You successfully cured him/her of anything interesting about his/her personality.”

“Neither one us is drunk enough for this conversation.”

“You’re questioning my methods.” “I’m not questioning it, I’m saying it’s stupid.”

“Wow, somebody needs a Happy Meal.”

“I didn’t do it!” “Then why are you laughing?” “Because whoever did it is a freaking genius.”

“Idiots. I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.”

“I care so little, I almost passed out.”

“Well behaved woman rarely make history.”

“You’re so weird.” “You have no idea.”

“The universe may not always play fair, but at least it’s got a hell of a sense of humor.”

“You haven’t even seen my bad side yet.”

“Obviously you have mistaken me for somebody who gives a shit.”

“How’s life treating you?��� “Like I ran over it’s dog.”

“Rule number one: don’t bother sucking up. I already hate you, that’s not going to change.”

“Oh God, we’re not gonna have to hug or anything, are we.”

“I’m so glad you could come.” “Cut the crap. Give me a drink.”

“You make no sense to me.” “Welcome to my life.”

“Have fun being deal.” “I will.”

“Damn, you’re strong for a little thing.”

“It’s called thinking. Go with it.”

“I made a new friend today.” “Real or imaginary?” “Imaginary.”

“Where have you been all my life?” “Hiding from you.”

“I’m getting real bored and impatient. I don’t do bored and impatient.”

“The girl is strange no question.”

“Do us a favor… I know it’s difficult for you… but please, stay here, and try no to do anything… stupid.”

“I know most people don’t like me; I don’t care, I don’t like most people.”

“You are a very strange person.” “Well, thanks for noticing.”

“I can tell that you think what you’re saying is funny, but… no.”

“I didn’t steal it. I permanently borrowed it.”

“I’m not shy. I’m just examining my prey.”

“If you pull out my earphones, I will pull out your lungs.”

“I don’t dislike you, I nothing you.”

“Are you crying? No, I’m impersonating a fountain.”

“Ah, he’s playing hard-to-get. That’s cute.”

“You’re kinda anti-social, you know that?”

“I feel like a freakin’ soccer mom.”

“My advice is much more subtle. Stop being an ass.”

“I’m just gonna pack up and go straight to hell now.”

“My ex? Yeah, I’d still hit that. Except this time it would be with a car or baseball bat.”

“She’s complicated like the DaVinci code, you know but harder to crack.”

“And just like everything else we do around here, it’s about to get weirder.”

“Such big evil in such a little thing.”

“Why do I still like you, knowing you’re a total asshole?”

“What does not kill you will likely try again.”

“Oh honey, I would but… I don’t want to.”

“And hello to you too… little homewrecker.”

“I’m gonna make you wish you were dead.”

“I don’t need anger management. I need people to stop pissing me off.”

“What doesn’t kill me might make me kill you.”

“In another life, I think I was in a mental institution.”

“I’m not crazy. I’m just interesting.”

“Don’t make me pop your ten grand sand bags honey.”

“This is fun.” “Seriously, we’re trying to hide a body.”

[tumblunni]

its weird how like my fave genre of games could be vaguely categorized as ‘nurturing things’ yet i fuckin hated every single thing of that kind that was pushed on me as a child

like hell yes i love pet games and games where you get customization and a sense of progress on building your character, and like even i like ‘parent games’ when they’re that sort of thing instead of just weird shoddy gross baby diaper changing bullshit. Like wtf who on earth even wants a game about raising a kid where you don’t get to see them grow up and graduate high school and make you proud in one of 63 careers?? seriously i am still so salty that this is such an underutilzed genre and i still have to play creepy anime fanservice dos games from the 90s cos thats ALL I HAVE. Why u showing my perfect sweet videogame child in creepy fanservice costumes I JUST WANT TO SUPPORT HER ACADEMIC LIFE

but anyway lol WHAT I MEAN IS

even though i LOVE that stuff i fuckin hate all that cliche ‘girl toy’ bullshit I love character customization but I hate it when its framed as ~lol girls just inherantly love fashion oo catty girl time~ and you only have this one stupid sexist creepy giant boobs doll and no customization except costumes and the only costume options are either sexualized or really stereotypically ‘girly’ and also you have to be rich as fuck to buy all these stupidly overpriced individual outfit packs and then you cant even DO anything with your barbie! at least in a videogame you can have the novelty of replaying the same cool fantasy adventure with your different characters, and like.. it has actual substance BEYOND just the customization! And I mean you can see your customization in action in a 3D environment and having a Story and Cool Powers and a voice and animations and all that jazz! And interacting with canon characters without having to buy all those separately too, and then do terrible impressions of the voiceacting from the show on your own... cos man that’s what i used to actually do with any ‘girl toys’ i was given, i saw absolutely ZERO appeal in having fifty ordinary houses where you can do nothing but sit barbie on a damn chair and gossip about husbands or whatever. Like fuck that’s already lazy and awful cos you’re telling the kid to make up their own reasons to find any enjoyment from the damn toy, but at least cliche ‘boy toys’ got like... a story template. And one that;s actually interesting and involves fighting n shit, and their accessories actually GIVE THE TOY NEW FEATURES but yeah like even making up a whole new story about barbie being a superhero got boring quick, cos she wasn’t remotely relateable or interesting. Like I’m glad that nowadays they do more with the character but even if they’ve fixed some of the predjudiced shit she’;s still.. not interesting?? just gone from cliche fashion boring to absolutely personalityless ‘good role model’ with no defining traits whatsoever. So I used to just destroy barbies or make her the villain in everything, and had a big box of naked barbies with missing legs and stuff while i gave all their accessories to all the pokemon and digimon. Still really pissed at how few of the outfits would fit on Impmon! Seriously it sucks that also all the good ‘boy toys’ were really stereotypically macho in one way or another so i was barely ever allowed to have them and i felt like they hated me even when i did get to play with them. And the only tv shows at the time that I liked that weren’t ‘for girls’ or ‘for boys’ were pokemon and digimon, which were still kinda treated as ‘for boys’ but didn’t even get the ‘boys style’ of merchandise. like barely ever poseable dolls that i could use in more creative play, they were just like collectables you put on the mantlepiece. I WOULD HAVE KILLED FOR CYNTHIA NENDOROID BACK THEN!!! i used to break all my damn digimon trying to fit them into lil outfits or throw them around doing battles, and then i made myself hella sad. I’m sad I don’t still have that super broken but extremely loved patamon transformer doll, that thing was THE BEST! like man why did they stop doing those after the first season?? actually digivolving your digimon was the best damn idea! did they get sued by transformers or something...??? and I mean GEEZ its not like I didn’t like cute stuff or hugging stuff or being nurturing or friendly or whatever people claim is the ‘wholesome value’ that female stereotypes teach kids. but man all that shit just ruined the stuff i loved! its so alienating! and why is it always super low quality and limited?? fuckin Baby Alive Really Pees And Poops,And Does Nothing Else Ever And Has No Personality. yeah girls you sure wanna see only the bad sides of nurturing and be told over and over that your life is gonna be nothing but this as soon as you inevitably start wanting to marry boys, which is totally gonna happen according to every damn adult, and will feel like a death sentence to any kid with any other sexuality. like I fuckin got my Official Digimon Tamagotchi and it was like the whole world opened up to me, like wow Pets Can Actually Do Things Other Than Shit. And i mean at least in an lcd game thing the pet shitting actually serves some damn purpose and provides resource management gameplay to decide what evolutions you get, instead of just Somehow You Should Enjoy Changing Diapers, You Little Fuck. I loved that tamagotchi so much i fuckin broke it too, like WHY WAS KID BUNNI KRYPTONITE TO TOYS?? the battery crapped out cos like i held it too tightly and the case on the back got loose?? so it’d short circuit whenever it went into sleep mode and wipe all my save data. and i still kept playing even though i could never digivolve anyone beyond their first stage before it glitched out. And then I got THE PLAYSTATION VERSION WITH ALL THE GRAPHICS and just AAAAAA it was like the best fuckin thing ever. and Monster Rancher!! and Princess Maker!! kid me could spend 60 straight hours looking after nonexistant babies and talking dinosaurs and cry like a damn bitch when they died so DONT TELL ME I’m lacking in healthy nurturing skills just because i don’t wanna be mr marketing guy’s fucked up idea of a straight woman...

...man sorry this post turned into a really weird rant why did i think about this at 1am

also like even flash game internet dollmakers are better than the cliche stereotype dolls they were based on god I’m perfectly fine with collecting a bunch of things if they’re not forcing some offensive message down my throat! i still remember how confused and pissed off i was when i figured out that my little pony was supposed to be A Gender Thing too, like geez they’re fuckin horses. and the show was actually like THE ONLY THING i was allowed to watch that had actual adventures and fighting monsters and stuff! its so bad and minimal now that i look back on it, but like man it was all I had. No wonder i got so into pokemon when it came out, look here’s a thing to collect that’s all ABOUT fighting monsters! i always wanted figurines of the monsters from those dumb girly shows, it was so annoying that MLP g1 had that episode about ‘oh the Crabnasties are people too, they’re not evil just because they look gross’ and then WHERE IS MY COLLECTABLE CRABNASTIES THEN?? WHY CANT I PUT CUTE ACCESSORIES ON THEM?? fuck u that was the most memorable episode also actually why did i have to wait so many pokemonn generations for a crab that appealed to me? krabby is so boring, its just a crab with weird human eyes. and i’m inexplicably creeped out by that one from gen 3 cos its like an optical illusion, i thought the markings were its face! thank the gods for crabominable and also damn the gods for it being hated by 90% of the fandom for reasons I will never understand :( ...BUT STILL WHERE IS MY CRABOMINABLE BEAUTY PARLOR PLAYSET YO

fuck its 1am why am i still awake why can’t i stop thinking about dragon quest 9 but you play as crabs THAT WAS THE BEST FASHION SIMULATOR EVER, DAMMIT

[gameofthrawns]

Miracle Island

A/N: I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date. A late submission for tarched’s HTTYDArtAugust, Prompt 5: Hunted. This one was a freaking monster to write compared to my usual stuff, at over 3.5k words—So now I know for sure that I will never write a novel. So I’m using that as my excuse. I also found it just...kinda hard to write. 

If you read my story for the “Campfire” prompt, you’ll probably remember these random Dragon Hunter OCs. Probably gonna post this along with that one in my “Viking War Tales” one-shots collection. Just as a warning, this story gets a bit violent. And a bit long. And a bit dark. So yeah.

“Did you ever learn where she’s from?”

Hans smiled at Ivar’s question. “Who?”

Ivar’s mustache twitched in annoyance. “Don’t play dumb, boy. Sigrid.”

Hans glanced back at the woman marching with Rolf a few yards behind them. Her skin was pale like the moon, with cheeks touched by pink. Her hair was tied in a golden plait that shimmered like the Sun. Her eyes were blue, like ice, or the sea, or the sky on a clear summer day.

What had Hans learned of Sigrid these past few months? He had learned that she was from some Viking village called Raglif; like many other Viking islands, it was a rather sad land, constantly plagued by freezing winters, dragon raids, and just general misery. Much worse than his own village back in Polder, actually.

He had, through the course of multiple nights, learned of her many, many scars, tracing them with his fingers as they explored each other’s bodies in the darkness.

He had learned that her favorite colors were green—especially the shade of green his eyes were, or so she claimed—and purple, which was the color of her favorite flower, wolfsbane. She didn’t like any nuts because she had been allergic to some of them when she was a child, even though she wasn’t now. She had an insatiable sweet tooth, which was really a shame because Hans remembered there being plenty of sweets to go around back in Polder...just not for him. But if he returned now, with Sigrid at his side...

He had learned that she was actually, while not by much, probably the worst fighter in the squad. She made up for it with her cleverness and her deft hands and fingers, capable of building and weaving even seemingly worthless scraps into something useful.

He had learned, much to his horror, that with those same hands and fingers she could deliver excruciating pain upon unwilling victims. It was something her father, the madman, had forced her to learn, so as to better torment her own little brother. The Grimborn brothers themselves had sometimes personally called upon her to break the mind, body, and spirit of prisoners. Hans had only seen her doing such grim work once, and only briefly, for the brutality and cold-bloodedness of the affair made his stomach turn.

It wasn’t much surprise, actually, that a woman so well-versed in the art of inflicting pain could also excel at providing pleasure. That, too, was apparently something her father had forced her to learn. That little fact about Sigrid’s past had always made Hans particularly uncomfortable, in a strange way he’d never felt toward another person before. He wondered if he was taking advantage of her in some way, a thought that had never occurred to him about sex ever since his first experience at the ripe old age of fourteen.

He had learned that Sigrid was actually quite the romantic, or at least, she tried to be. Just last night night, she had told him that they were a “match made in Hell”: two bad people who’d done many bad things, teaching each other to be good, to love. It was an interesting idea, certainly.

“And why do you think she would tell me that?” he finally replied. No doubt, he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn’t care.

“We’re not blind,” Ivar said. “Well, maybe Rolf...”

“Heard that!” Rolf shouted from a few paces behind Hans.

“...but there’s a reason we split you two up for this little hunt.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, ‘Oh’. Do you now how many times we’ve counted so far?”

“Counting what?”

“Times you’ve disappeared.”

“You and Snorre have been—”

“Three times!” Ivar narrowed his eyes at a particular tree. “That’s just when we’re paying attention. I can’t imagine—well, actually, I can...”

That made Hans frown. “Um, do you think Snorre minds?”

Ivar’s mustache twitched again. “The boss thinks you two are cute together. And efficient.”

“And you?”

“A little fucking never hurt anyone, I guess.” The older man shrugged. “Just be careful about...you know. We’re on Miracle Island, and the last thing you want right now is a little miracle popping out of—”

“Ah yes, Miracle Island, truly a blessed place!” Rolf suddenly appeared to Hans’ left, excitedly waving his hunting knife. Hans wisely shifted closer to Ivar. “The world can be so cruel and uncaring, but here...this is where heroes are born, where good always triumphs evil.”

“Sneaky bastard,” Ivar muttered. How a man like Rolf, filled to the brim with energy and cheer, could move so silently was a mystery only he and He were privy too.

“To be able to down the Dragon Boy and his Night Fury with a single bolt? In the dead of night? It was destiny, I tell you.”

“A single bolt dipped in dragon root,” Ivar countered.

“Truly miraculous.”

“Indeed. You’re the worst shot out of all of us.”

“Indeed, indeed. Say what you want, my ever-envious friend.” He tapped his head with the edge of his knife. “And envy, as Hans would say, is...”

Hans rolled his eyes. “A sin.”

“I concur, and so I say, to Hel with you, Ivar!” He laughed, and even Hans chuckled until he noticed Ivar glaring at him. “And I’ll have both of you know that once we capture this downed beast, I will be forever known as the man who brought down the greatest enemy the Dragon Hunters have ever known.”

Ivar just shook his head and muttered under his breath.

“Tell me, friend, how do you think we’ll find the Dragon Boy?”

Hans didn’t really give a damn, at this point. “Um, dead, hopefully?”

“Now there’s no fun in that. I hope he’ll be injured, but still able to run.”

“I really would prefer if he was just dead.”

“He’d be scurrying off like prey.” Rolf did a goofy little jog in place. “ And I’d like you, Hans, to have the honor of delivering the killing blow.”

“Why me?”

“Because Rolf would miss.”

“Oh do shut up, Ivar.”

“Dammit, Rolf, get back in formation!” Snorre bellowed from just up ahead. “I don’t mind a little chatter, but at least follow my orders! Let’s look good when we meet up with Olav’s squad, eh?”

Rolf jogged back to his position by Sigrid. “Right, right, my apologies, sir.”

A calm silence fell over the five hunters as they marched through the ever-thickening forest. Hans snuck another glance back at Sigrid. Apparently she had the same idea, and she gave him a small smile. it was enough to make his heart flutter.

Still keeping his eyes scanning his sector, he leaned a bit closer to Ivar and whispered, “I think I’m in love.”

Ivar scoffed. “Are any of us normal enough to really know what that word even means?”

That made Hans think. “What do you mean?”

“We’re all damaged goods here. No Dragon Hunter’s fully right in the head, or he wouldn’t have chosen hunting fucking dragons as a job.”

“Yes.”

“You agree, for once?”

“I mean that...Yes, I do know what love is.” Hans turned to Ivar; the man’s mustache twitched like mad, but he was still dutifully watching the trees. “I want to...I am going to marry her, Ivar.”

Ivar whistled. “This been going on for that long?”

“Just three months. But she is...special.

“No one gets married in this line of work,” he said grimly. “At least, not happily. Or permanently. Heart shatters one way or another. So you better get out of this mess while you can.”

“I am not joking,” Hans said quickly, trying not to sound defensive. “I love her. Really. She is special.”

“Yeah, you said that.” Ivar finally turned to look at Hans, looking quite serious. “I mean getting out of dragon hunting, before it gets you killed. You and Sigrid. Just do what you usually do.”

“Disappear?”

“Yes, disappear, and then just don’t come back.”

Hans’ eyes slightly widened. “Really?”

For a moment, he could’ve sworn Ivar smiled. “I don’t know why you want my approval so badly, anyways. Snorre’s the boss, so just...make sure he knows. He won’t like it, but he’ll understand. I think.”

“Thank you,” Hans whispered.

As if on cue, Snorre suddenly barked, “Crossbows, spread five!”

Guided by instinct, Hans and Ivar parted from each other as quickly as the , pulling out their crossbows and scanning the surroundings for movement. Only now did Hans realize just how dense the vegetation had gotten, his vision blocked by a maze of vines and trees that seemed to reach the sky.

Rolf had shot down the Night Fury last night; that was certain. It had been a full moon, and all five of them had clearly seen it and its rider fall. The dragon was at best poisoned and severely injured; the Dragon Boy himself was most likely dead.

Unless...nothing. There was no other way it could have happened. So why did it feel like they were walking straight into a trap?

“Problem, Snorre?” Sigrid asked from somewhere all too far away. Hans resisted the urge to glance back at her, for fear that the mere sight of her would cause him to break formation.

“A hundred yards ahead,” Snorre called out. “Two bodies in front, probably Olav’s men. Anybody else?”

“Clear,” Hans said.

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

“You think it’s the Night Fury, boss?”

The wind whistled strangely—ominously, almost—in reply.

“I...I don’t know. It’s messy. Ripped their guts out and just...left it all there.”

“But I hit it.” Rolf sounded almost hurt by the possibility that he hadn’t actually downed the Night Fury.

“Maybe Night Furies are immune to dragon root?” Sigrid suggested.

“We all saw it go down. It went down! I’m telling you, it went down...”

“Then...the Dragon Boy?”

“No,” Snorre said. “No, they’re all mangled. A dragon’s work, for sure.”

A pause. The wind began howling. “You think we should check the cave?” Ivar asked.

“It’s our only way in, right?”

It was then that Hans realized that he wasn’t just imagining that the wind had suddenly started shrieking. It wasn’t wind at all. He exchanged a look at Rolf, who seemed to come to the same, dreadful conclusion.

By the time the other man screeched “DOWN!”, Hans was already diving for the dirt. The ground shook just before he landed, and he felt heat wash over him.

In the span of seconds, he was already back on his feet, crossbow at the ready, scanning his surroundings, searching for the Night Fury among the treetops.

“Call out!” Snorre ordered. “One check!”

“Two check!” he shouted. “I’m here!”

“Three check!” Ivar followed. “No wounds. That fucking Night Fury!”

But Rolf said nothing.

Sigrid said nothing.

“That shot came from above,” Ivar warned. “Where did he go? Where did that little shit go?”

“Spread three!” Snorre hissed. “Eyes up! Eyes—Hans, what are you doing?”

Hans sprinted towards Sigrid’s crumpled form, ignoring Snorre’s orders, ignoring Ivar’s shouting, ignoring the fact that all that remained of Rolf was scattered, burnt chunks of flesh.

Sigrid was a grotesque swirl of colors: white, beige, and shimmering gold, all now marred with dark reds and ashen black. But she was crying; she was breathing.

He didn’t dare look back at Snorre, but for a brief moment, he locked eyes with Ivar, who was staring at him with an inscrutable expression. Then the older man’s mouth moved.

Disappear.

Scooping Sigrid into his arms, Hans ran as fast as he could.

Like prey.

Hans had imagined the Dragon Boy to be a bit...thicker. More intimidating.

The fact that the “greatest enemy the Dragon Hunters have ever faced” was leaning unconscious against a cave wall, half a left leg missing, a foot-long crossbow bolt stuck in his chest, made him look almost pathetic. So Rolf had struck the rider, not the dragon. Why the Night Fury fell from the sky because of it, Hans did not know, but that was what must have happened.

What a strange coincidence that Hans would so quickly find himself switch from the position of predator to prey and then predator again so quickly, all in one day. It’d be easy, Hans decided, to end the boy’s life right here. In any other situation, he would, without hesitation. But he had something else to focus on right now, something that completely drained him of his desire to do anything else.

Sigrid whimpered as he put her down by the small fire. Her face was, even now—twisted in pain, streaked with tears, slightly burnt and bloodied—made his heart stir with that familiar feeling of love. He wiped at some blackened hair dipping down near her eyes. It was hard and brittle, and it crumbled at his touch.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Sigrid whined, looking down at herself. “Hurts.”

Hans didn’t dare follow her wild gaze, didn’t dare confirm what he felt. There was so much blood. His hands were drowning in it. She was falling apart, and he didn’t know what to do.

“I know it hurts, little treasure, I know,” he heard himself say. “I will fix you. Just look at me, Sigrid. Look at me, please.”

“I can’t!” she cried. Try as they might, her eyes couldn’t focus on him, or anything else. They darted wildly to and fro, searching desperately for something to save them.

Such a thing, Hans’ mind knew, did not exist. But in what felt like the first time in his life, his heart did not agree. His heart held on to hope. His eyes searched for something to stop the bleeding. But he...he honestly couldn’t remember how. Rolf always dealt with wounds, and now Rolf was dead.

“We leave,” he said, his voice breaking. Liar, liar, liar, his own mutinous mind chanted. “We leave, and then I can fix you, okay?”

“It hurts too much,” she whispered, each breath shorter than the last. “I don’t...die.”

“You will not die, Sigrid. You cannot die.”

“No, I don’t...want...”

“I can fix you. Please, God, can I...I can fix you.”

“Hans...”

“And then I am going to marry you, okay?” he cried. “Okay? Okay, Sigrid?”

He was praying, silently, praying to He who died for all mankind’s sins for a miracle. Just one miracle, on Miracle fucking Island, of all places. Was that too much to ask?

Sigrid opened her mouth, but instead of words, she replied with only a soft gurgle, a bit of blood. Was that a yes or a no?

“I love you, Sigrid,” he said between sobs. “Don’t go away.”

Her blue eyes stopped searching, her body slacked. Her answer died on her lips, and then swiftly whisked away by a long, final sigh.

“Please, God,” he pleaded. “Oh please, Sigrid, don’t go away.”

Something growled.

In his grief, Hans had failed to notice the Night Fury that had slipped by him and positioned itself between him and its rider, the pupils at the center of its green eyes narrow and vengeful. A pair of distinctly human dangled from its mouth, threads caught along two rows of bloodied daggers. It dropped Snorre and Rolf’s heads and gently kicked them into the dim light, confirming what Hans’ guilty heart already suspected: Snorre and Ivar were dead.

Surrender, it seemed to hiss. You are alone.

He shook Sigrid gently. “Wake up,” he whispered.

She couldn’t. He couldn’t either, still staring between her and the heads. The nightmare continued.

The Night Fury shook its head in pity and made a deep, rumbling noise. You. Are. Alone.

Only then did his heart let go of hope. It did so with great reluctance, but it could not deny reality anymore. The dragon was right; he was alone. The body in his arms was still warm, but the wonderful, singular life that once inhabited it had moved on. And so his heart fell.

And fell.

And fell.

And shattered.

Hans screamed in a way that matched how he had loved Sigrid, still loved Sigrid: with an intensity and ferocity he had never felt before. It was as much fueled by love as it was by hatred, for the two, in this case, were one and the same. He hated everything: earth and sky and sea, birth and life and death, past and present and future. He hated the parents he never knew, his uncle and all the other people who had wronged him in life, the people who had helped him in life, the people who never knew him, the people he never would know. He hated Him, in particular, the Savior who was supposedly all-powerful and all-good yet had let his friends die so cruelly and pointlessly. He hated his friends, and himself, and even Sigrid, because if love and hope couldn’t bring her back, perhaps hate could.

And above all, he hated the Night Fury.

He didn’t recall grabbing his long axe and charging towards the dragon, but he suddenly found himself, still screaming, within arm’s reach of exacting his vengeance, staring into demonic eyes and devilish teeth, close enough to smell its vile breath and feel his bones tremble as it roared.

“Catch!” a distinctly female voice shouted from behind him.

He spun around, just in time to catch a glimpse of something deadly flying towards him. It sank deep into his right shoulder, and searing pain stripped him of what remained of his reason and senses, pulling him to the ground.

The Night Fury’s head loomed over Hans; its pupils were no longer slits, but wide black bulbs, both taunting and pitying him. He raged against it; in his mind, he was already up off the ground, long axe carving cleanly through the neck of Sigrid’s killer. But his body couldn’t obey, and the realization of this fact only made him scream harder.

He wanted to kill the Night Fury. He wanted to kill this Dragon Boy. He wanted to honor Sigrid’s name with their screams, killing them as she probably could have done: slowly, painfully. But he had only just begun to lift his head up when a heavy boot stomped it back down, crushing his screams down into muffled whimpers.

She was a Viking girl, probably even younger than him. Her skin was pale like the moon, with cheeks touched by pink. Her hair was tied in a golden plait that shimmered like the Sun. Her eyes were blue, like ice, or the sea, or the sky on a clear summer day...

“Sigrid,” he tried to say.

“Hiccup?” she replied, though she wasn’t looking at him.

She put more of her weight on to his face as she ripped her axe out of his shoulder, sending another lightning bolt of pain ripping through his entire body, leaving him howling. He felt how quickly the blood from the open wound was spilling out of him, soaking his arm and the earth below.

It was over.

The world around him grew more distant, yet also clearer and brighter, with each passing moment, and he now knew for certain that that girl was Sigrid. He let his head roll to the left and watched Sigrid kneel beside a wounded boy that looked oddly familiar. What was his name?

“Hiccup,” Sigrid said, shaking the boy’s shoulder. “Hiccup, wake up.”

The Night Fury slowly approached the boy, whining like a worried pup.

A “huh” escaped from the lips of someone nearby. His own, perhaps, trying to pronounce that boy’s name. Yet, that couldn’t possibly be his own voice. Hans didn’t know why just yet, but it wouldn’t make any sense.

With a groan, the boy’s eyes slowly fluttered open. The boy had green eyes, Hans noted, much like...

Himself. There he was.

Sigrid crushed Hans with a loving embrace, much to his confusion. “As-Astrid?”

“Hi, babe,” she said softly, her voice cracking just a bit.

Hans was grinning like an idiot. “Hey, As,” he croaked. “Hey, As. Hey. You’re here. Hi.”

“Of course, silly.” Sigrid pulled out a strand of parchment from her pack. “Toothless, lick this.”

The Night Fury did so.

“This arrow could’ve hit your heart, you know?” She began placing the parchment over the arrow wound. “If you tried to take it out yourself...Thank the gods you didn’t.”

Hans shook his head. “Good guys don’t die”

Sigrid tilted her head “Oh, and you’re a good guy?”

“Definitely...I think.” He giggled. “You’re...you’re so much beautiful, lady. My lady.”

Sigrid touched his forehead with the back of her fingers. “Damn it,” she said, sighing. “Let’s get this home quickly, Toothless.”

“Mmm, nah.”

“What’s wrong, babe? The arrow?”

Hans smiled weakly. “Mmm, tired. And the arrow, yeah.”

“Babe, I promise you, if we try pulling the arrow out here, it’ll hurt. A lot. So let’s get back to—”

“And...you’re pretty. Toooo pretty.” He puckered his lips and started kissing the air.

“Yeah, all right. Let’s go.” Sigrid strapped her bloodied axe to her back and gently picked Hans up off the ground. The Night Fury nudged at Hans’ dangling legs, whimpering.

“It’s fine, Toothless,” she said. “I’ve got him. I guess I’ll be riding you back, and Stormfly can carry—Wait, Stormfly? Stormfly? Where’d my girl run off to...”

“Marry me?” Hans suddenly asked.

The Night Fury made a noise of confusion. Sigrid froze. “What?”

“Like not today.” Hans’ arms flopped around lazily. “But later, you know. Tonight...no, tomorrow. Let’s...not rush.”

That made her giggle. “Sure, Hiccup,” she said.”

“Yeees?” Hans slurred.

“If you actually remember any of this? Yes.”

Hans could only stare as Sigrid and the Night Fury carried him away, out of this dreary cave and into the warm, blinding light that was quickly consuming everything. Into the next life. Hell, probably. Such a fate would’ve been enough to make even Rolf frown.

But she said “Yes”, and that made Hans smile.

Second A/N: Yes, I planned to pair and then kill Hans and Sigurd from the very beginning. I don’t expect tears, but I hope this story hurt at least a little bit. The part I was stuck on was just exactly how to best fit all the moments I wanted to have into a (kinda?) cohesive timeline.

In hindsight, I should’ve divided this better as a three-part thing, with a middle story as part of the “Hunters” prompt. But whatever.

[tumblunni]

How do I write an autistic villain without demonizing autism by accident? ;-;

I’m not really sure why you’re messaging this to me. I’m really sorry but I’m not an expert on like.. political stuff about autism stereotyping, just because I’m autistic. And it depends on which country you live in, I know that america has a far more visible sort of cultural presence for stereotypes, due to the whole Autism $peaks controversies. I dont live in america and I’m not super smart or anything, so yeah this is a disclaimer that this is just my opinion and you should probably research answers given by other people too. And maybe ask people about the specific circumstances of what you’re writing, like the context of the setting of the story and what the villain is like, etc. I’d be happy to chat to you about that if you need help! (but again, im no expert, lol)

ANYWAY!

My opinion on the subject is that having an autistic villain is perfectly fine, as long as you’re not villainizing autism. Like...* Don’t make the autism the reason theyre a villain.* Don’t make people scared of them because of the autism, rather than because they’re a villain.* Don’t treat their autistic traits as scary or inherantly villainous.* Don’t make anyone insult them for their autism and act like its justified because they’re evil.

And similarly its bad form to do any of that stuff in regard to any sort of minority really. An example that always bugged me is how Excellus from Fire Emblem Awakening is scary and evil because he’s a murderous monster, yet everyone in the game constantly insults him for the fact he acts ambiguously gay/transgender/effeminate. Like, there’s way too many jokes about people finding him ‘disgusting’ because of some random thing he can’t change, like a sexuality, race or mental illness which plenty of non-evil people have too! It also lessens his impact as a villain because the characters barely even address the actual villainous things he does, and he doesnt seem to have any motive at all. They just ride on the whole ‘the audience will find him gross’ thing as a crutch and forgot to bother writing a good villain.

Oh, and your concerns are indeed valid, yo! Sometimes it is important to think about the context you created a character in, even if you didnt intentionally create any negative messages within your writing.It’s just that the case where a character will be seen as villainizing [minority trait] for being a villain... that’s kind of only in a very specific circumstance? its just that this specific circumstance is very very common in mass media nowadays.It’s ‘The Smurfette Principle’.If you only have one character of a minority in your cast, its easy for an uninformed audience to pick up messages that you’re saying ALL members of that minority are the same as them.If you only have one autistic character and he’s the villain, then you might accidentally be villainizing him. In a world where autistic characters being villainized for their autism is already very common, people could just assume you made them autistic for the same reason all those other writers did- because they think it’s ‘scary’. It feeds the stereotype even if you didn’t conciously intend it that way.

So a very very easy way to fix this problem is just to add multiple characters of a minority into your story, filling various roles from villain to hero to helpful npc. or anything you can think of!

Another good quick fix is to have your villain be autistic, but portray their autistic traits as sympathetic/relateable/a humanizing aspect of them. Not just portraying it as something neutral that doesnt make them scary, but going out of your way to add some scenes showing how they’re just like anybody else. Or even making it one of their redeeming traits!It doesn’t have to outright be something like ‘yo being autistic makes me inherantly good and childlike’, which is a stereotype all to itself, lol. But you could show them experiencing predjudice from another character, in a way that makes the audience sympathise. Honestly having a character attack them for being autistic instead of being a villain would be a good way to do this, as long as that character is actually shown as being wrong for what they’re doing. Or simply showing the villain having common autistic traits, facing common problems, doing common everyday things... that can be enough to portray autism positively. Have them shown doing this stuff outside of the situation of them being villainous. It makes them feel more human and less of an abstract symbol of evil. And because these small glimpses of normality are lightening the mood, they become seen as a positive aspect!

KIND OF AN OFFTOPIC TANGEANT SORRYJust my personal experience as an autistic kid experiencing this story... I personally headcanoned Cyrus from pokemon as autistic. Not because he’s ‘scary and emotionless’, but because his backstory was relateable to me as an autistic person. It’s said that his parents were emotionally abusive, and that he had nobody to turn to because everyone thought he was ‘a creepy kid’. And he was able to find solace by obsessing over repairing machines in his bedroom, and apparantly has trouble understanding people because they can’t be fixed as easily. Stuff like maths and science are kind of a stereotypical Special Interest for autistic children to be given in fiction, I guess because it makes you seem more intelligent when you obsess about that instead of video games, norse mythology, or collecting tiny novelty spoons from around the world XD (Yeah i was a weird kid.)So yeah sorry I went a little offtopic there, but the point is that it might have been by accident instead of intention but that villain has a lot of traits that read as autistic. And when i first played Diamond and Pearl I actually disliked him a lot because of that, I felt like they were villainizing someone who seemed relateable and potentially redeemable. I mean, he seemed pretty depressed too! Give that man some therapy! But when I played Platinum and got to learn his backstory I started to feel like the writers actually did want us to feel sympathetic to him, because of how all those ‘scary’ traits were presented so sympathetically. Like.. the backstory isn’t that he became evil because he was an autistic kid who did creepy things like obsess about machinery and suck at social contact. No, he became a villain because he was abused by his parents, him being ‘weird’ is just intended to make it clear here that he didnt deserve it. It makes him pitiable, it makes him relateable, it makes you feel so much more frustrated that nobody listened to him and saved him from that hell, and nobody even seems to remember him fondly, just because he was ‘weird’. And hell, even his ‘emotion is evil’ philosophy seems very relateable to me as an autistic child. It seems like he learned to seclude himself to avoid angering his parents. That’s the impression I got from his final scene in Platinum, where he finally acts angry at you for beating him, then gets angry at himself for expressing emotion and forces himself to go back to how he usually talks. I get a bit pissed off whenever I see fans of the series claim he actually IS emotionless, lol! This scene made it clear to me that this is just a guy who WISHES he was emotionless, somehow seeing it as the only way to be free of pain. Someone who struggles to deal with his own emotions, or feels like he’s disgusting when he expresses them. And this is VERY relateable specifically to an autistic kid who suffered from an abusive parent! “Quiet Hands” is a kind of common concept that autistic kids might experience, that’s the name for a popular ‘parenting technique’ that really fucks people up. Focusing on making your kid never ‘act autistic’, rather than actually helping them understand things. ‘Quiet Hands’ is specifically about slapping or smacking your kid whenever they show stimming behaviour. (Hand flapping being a common way this symptom can manifest.) We’re taught never to be too loud, and to always always have to restrain ourselves to avoid embarassing our parents. We have to try and learn how to act like ‘normal people’ and become scared of harmless parts of our own brain just because theyre ‘embarassing’, leading to even worse emotional problems as an adult. i mean seriously how is it logical to tell a kid who has troubles with social interaction that they shouldnt even practise it?? Plus its a huge mess to teach these kids to do way more emotional labour than neurotypical kids are expected to do, and then treat them like they’re below average intelligence for not being able to do twice as much as everyone else...

ANYWAY! That’s a thinG! Sorry I went rambling off there about how a particular fictional character touched my heart, lol!I just kinda wish he could be canonically autistic, or if I had similar canonically autistic characters to relate to, instead. So i think having more autistic villains can’t be bad, we’re so badly in need of more autistic characters in general! And villains have a unique perspective of being able to hit our emotions the hardest. I think its easier to cry over someone who has a sad backstory of how they became evil, compared to anything else!So yeah what I was trying to say before I went offtopic is that if the backstory is ‘became evil because autism’, then people will complain. But if the backstory is ‘became evil because someone mistreated them because autism’ then that’s a good way to make people sympathise with autism. Aaaaand I’m bad at explaining this, because autism XD Well, i mean, my personal symptoms and lack of diagnosis til I was an adult means that I’m still working on learning how to communicate correctly, I don’t mean every autistic person writes terrible tl;dr advice posts that degrade into pokemon XDOh man i feel embarassed now, you asked me such a polite question and I didnt know how to answer it very well...I just hope maybe I inspired you to go out and do more research, rather than putting you off with my nonsense!