#wire-bender

[monicfever]

could we have some frank boyfriend hcs please? love ur writing !! <3

frank castle as your boyfriend. 𝜗𝜚 hc’s

r e q u e s t e d ♡

cw ᝰ .ᐟ gender neutral reader ,, sfw ,, it’s frank castle so 🤨 mentions of blood and stuff

FRANK AS YOUR BOYFRIEND . . . loves quietly. fiercely. like it’s carved into him. he’s not the type to write poems or whisper sweet things — but he brings you coffee before you wake up and keeps his arm around you in every crowded room. he remembers how you take your tea, what shirt you sleep in, the exact sound you make when you laugh too hard.

frank doesn’t fall in love. he commits to it. like a vow. something permanent. he watches over you the way most people breathe — effortlessly, constantly, without needing to think. puts himself between you and danger before you even register that something’s wrong. it’s not dramatic for him — it’s just instinct.

watches bad action movies with you and critiques the gun work the whole time. “that’s not how recoil works.” “no way that guy walks away from a wound like that.” but when you laugh at him for it, he gets all smug. “just saying. i could do it better.”

frank’s not invincible. he carries grief in his ribs and guilt in his spine. sometimes it catches up with him. some nights he won’t come to bed. just sits on the floor beside it, back to the wall, eyes dark. like if he closes them, he’ll lose everything. including you. he doesn’t talk about his past much. doesn’t talk about feelings either. but when he holds you it’s with this kind of aching gentleness, like you’re the last good thing in a world he doesn’t trust anymore.

he never asks for anything, but he always lights up when you touch him first. when you kiss his shoulder without warning. when you reach for his hand. like it catches him off guard, every time — the idea that someone like you could choose someone like him.

he always drives. always. he won’t say it out loud, but he needs to be in control — needs to protect you, even from a fender bender or a bad intersection. keeps one hand on the wheel and one on your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth. sings quietly when his favourite old songs come on. you almost miss it the first few times.

has a quiet little grunt-laugh when you get sarcastic. never full-on laughs — not the belly kind — but it’s a sharp exhale, a crooked smile, head tilted like “you got me.”

“you tired?” you’ll ask, and he’ll grunt something half-hearted. “i’m good.” but then he’s pulling you in, pressing his face into your neck, one heavy arm around your waist like a shield.

he doesn’t say i love you much. but he shows it in the way he always notices when you’re cold, the way he drives a little slower when you’re in the passenger seat, how he keeps an extra sweatshirt of his in your closet like it belongs there. frank listens when you talk. keeps your words tucked away like secrets. remembers names you mentioned once, the kind of books you like, the way you bite your lip when you’re about to cry but don’t want to.

he’s not scared of bullets or pain or anything that can be solved with his fists — but he gets scared of you leaving. scared that you’ll wake up one day and realize you deserve someone softer. someone safer, someone cleaner. so he’s careful. careful not to break things, careful not to raise his voice. careful not to bleed too close to you, even when he’s hurt.

keeps a toolbox in your apartment before he ever brings a toothbrush. fixes that squeaky cabinet door without being asked. rehangs your shelves, patches your drywall, silently wires your lamp so it stops flickering. doesn’t make a big deal about it — just hands you a cup of coffee after and kisses your forehead like it’s nothing.

does your dishes without saying a word. folds laundry with sleeves tucked in and socks matched. gets grumpy if you try to help while he’s in the zone. “i got it,” he mutters, brow furrowed like laundry’s a mission he must complete correctly. then he’ll look over and gently nudge you onto the couch. “sit. rest.”

like taking care of you is just part of his day.

he doesn’t sleep through the night, but he tries not to wake you. gets up quietly, makes tea in the dark. reads worn paperback thrillers with a flashlight like he’s still out in the field. but if you come find him — sleepy and barefoot, rubbing your eyes — he just opens his arms. pulls you into his lap, tucks his chin over your head.

gets oddly proud when he teaches you how to shoot. or fix a leak. or throw a punch. grins when you hit the target, calls you a natural. but the truth is he never wants you to have to use any of it. he’d burn the world down before he let something hurt you.

keeps a knife in the drawer by the bed. one in the glove compartment. one taped under the coffee table. it’s not paranoia — it’s habit. he was trained to anticipate the worst. but when you ask him about it, he softens. “just in case,” he says, hand resting on your back. “nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

he’s the kind of boyfriend who always knows when something’s off. even if you’re smiling, even if you say you’re fine. he notices when you’re quiet for too long, when your shoulders are tight. doesn’t push — just pulls you close, rubs slow circles into your back.

won’t ever tell the world what you are to him, but he keeps a photo of you tucked behind his driver’s license. always checks on it before he leaves for anything dangerous. you’re his anchor. his reason. he’s not a man who believes in second chances — but somehow, you are his.

he cooks like he’s back in the marines. efficient. fast. always enough for leftovers. but over time, he starts adding things just because you like them. makes your eggs how you like them, even if he doesn’t eat that way. tries your weird coffee orders without complaint. grumbles when he actually likes it. “too sweet,” he says, but finishes the whole thing.

when you fall asleep on the couch, he carries you to bed. always. tucks the blanket around you, kisses your forehead, brushes your hair back with hands that have broken bones and pulled triggers — but only ever touch you like you’re made of silk. then he lays beside you, arm wrapped around your waist, breath evening out to the rhythm of yours.

still wakes up too early. still checks the locks. still sits with his back to the wall in restaurants, even when it’s just brunch on a sunny sunday. but now he does it with your hand in his, thumb tracing soft, absent-minded shapes across your knuckles. he doesn’t say it, but his body speaks for him: i’ve got you.

he keeps things simple. practical. doesn’t like clutter. but then your books start piling up on the nightstand, and your sweater ends up on his desk chair, and your perfume lingers in the bathroom air — and he doesn’t move any of it. not even once. instead, he adds to it. a second toothbrush. a pair of slippers in your size. a grocery list stuck to the fridge that says “your coffee” in his blocky, all-caps handwriting.

he won’t say i miss you when you leave for a few days, but he’ll text to ask where you keep the cereal. then follow up with “never mind, found it.” when you come home, the bed’s made, the dishes are done, your favorite blanket’s draped over the couch. he doesn’t know how to say i missed you, so he just lives it.

he starts to laugh more. not loud, not often — but the kind that makes you freeze for a second because it’s real. usually when you tease him. or when you trip over nothing and pretend it was “parkour.” that little huff he gives, the crinkle by his eyes — it feels like a gift every single time.

he does that thing where he kisses the top of your head every time he walks behind you. in the kitchen, brushing your teeth, putting on your shoes. just a soft press of his lips to your crown.

you’re the only one he lets bandage him. he’ll brush off broken ribs like they’re nothing but sits still when you press alcohol-soaked cotton to a split knuckle. watches you like you’re something holy. like your hands could undo every war he’s fought.

reads labels now. like, really reads them. checks if the cereal has too much sugar. makes sure the medicine doesn’t interact with the one you take. won’t admit it, but he googled the skincare brand you use to see if it was safe.

refuses to let you carry heavy groceries. like, absolutely not. you once tried to bring in two bags and he took them out of your hands mid-step. “what the hell are you doin’?” he said, annoyed, already loading up his arms.

doesn’t like crowds, but he’ll go anywhere with you. leans down and says “stay close” in your ear, hand low on your back the whole time. doesn’t let go until you’re home again.

he won’t dance. won’t sing. won’t go to parties. but he’ll hold you in the kitchen, swaying slightly to the radio while you hum into his chest. that, he’ll do.

major dog person. duh. doesn’t care that he’s tough. doesn’t care that he’s seen things — nothing melts him like a dog wagging its tail. he’s the kind of guy who’s out in the yard throwing a ball, talking in that low, soft voice that only dogs get to hear. “go get it, buddy!” and you almost can’t believe it’s him saying it.

makes sure your car is always in running condition. not just oil checks, either. he replaces your windshield wipers, cleans the headlights, checks the tires — all without you asking. it’s like his way of protecting you, even when he’s not around. he knows it’s a small thing, but it’s one more way to make sure you’re taken care of. you get a flat tire? frank’s there in a second. doesn’t matter what time it is, doesn’t matter if he’s just gotten home after a week-long job. he’ll grab the tools, roll up his sleeves, and take care of it — no problem.

when he gets home after a mission, he’s quiet at first. but then he’ll slide into bed next to you, pull you close, and breathe you in like he can’t quite believe he’s back. “missed you.” he’ll whisper, voice hoarse, like it took everything out of him just to say it.

when you’re quiet, lost in thought, he notices. doesn’t pry, but always checks in with a low “you alright?” just so you know he’s paying attention.

frank is actually really into music, but only plays it when he's alone with you. he has an old guitar stashed in a corner of the apartment and you’ll catch him strumming it softly in the mornings before either of you are fully awake.

whenever you’ve had a bad day, he’ll quietly take care of things around the house — extra dishes done, the laundry folded without you asking, everything wiped down and cleaned up. not because he has to, but because he wants you to feel like home, like you have one less thing to worry about. he doesn’t say anything about it; he just silently goes about it while you take a nap or relax.

he’s sentimental about your things. you’ll catch him carrying around a keychain you gave him, or putting a postcard from your last vacation on his fridge. it’s subtle, but there are all these little pieces of you around his place — items that remind him of you, things that carry a piece of your heart.

good at remembering all your friends’ names. and the names of their kids. and their jobs. you’ll be like, “i saw claire today,” and frank will be like, “the one with the twin boys? she doin’ okay?” like it’s his job to keep track of your whole social circle now.

he has a weird soft spot for baking shows. says he doesn’t care, just watches ‘cause you do — but then suddenly he’s dead serious about whether the sponge is overbaked. sits there with his arms crossed, judging the contestants like he’s on the panel. “too much fondant. gonna cost ‘em.”

he’s surprisingly good at picking gifts. not flashy ones — thoughtful ones. a new mug because your favorite one cracked. a hoodie from a concert you couldn’t go to. a book by that author you said you liked once, six months ago. he remembers everything.

he buys you snacks when he’s mad at you. not big mad — just quiet, brooding, stubborn mad. instead of talking it out right away, he drops a bag of your favorite chips or candy on the counter and walks away like that settles it. it kind of does.

he’s so gentle with your stuff. your phone, your clothes, your decor — he handles all of it like it’s fragile, even if you toss it around like nothing.

he has zero patience when you’re sick. not annoyed — just worried. extra gruff. keeps asking “you need anything?” even though he just brought you tea, tissues, meds, and a hoodie. paces around the house like he’s prepping for battle against your cold.

he doesn’t talk in the mornings. just grunts and nods. but if you’re up before him and being cute or busy or just existing in his space, he’ll pull you into his chest without saying anything.

he’s not a big texter, but he reads all your messages the second they come in. always leaves you on “read” because he’s looking at it immediately, even if he replies 3 hours later with just “ok” and a thumbs-up emoji he definitely didn’t mean to send.

he always checks the expiration date on your food. opens the fridge and mutters under his breath about the milk “cutting it too damn close.” doesn’t want you eating anything that’ll make you sick. throws out the sketchy yogurt when you’re not looking.

he’s so good at reaching things for you. doesn’t matter how tall you are, he lives to reach the thing on the top shelf before you can. you stand on your toes, and he’s suddenly behind you like, “you’re gonna hurt yourself.” then hands it over like a knight returning a holy relic.

he doesn’t like you walking home alone. ever. if he can’t come get you, he’ll track your location. texts you the whole way like, “where are you now?” “you inside yet?” “door locked?” and you know the second you stop answering he’s already throwing on his jacket.

he uses your bath products and thinks you don’t notice. you’ll wonder why your fancy shampoo is suddenly disappearing faster, but then he walks past smelling like lavender and vanilla and acts like nothing’s different. you bring it up once and he grunts, “smells nice. don’t make it a thing.”

he tucks your legs into his lap when you sit next to him. even if he’s sore. even if you’re fidgety. he just wants you there — anchored to him, warm and close. sometimes he absentmindedly rubs your calves or traces circles on your ankle while he watches the news.

he hates being away from you overnight. says he doesn’t mind, but when he’s gone, he sleeps like shit. texts you random things at 3 a.m. — “you lock the door?” “the heater working?” “dog okay?” you know he only really rests when he’s home and you’re curled up next to him.

he always brings you water before bed. even if you don’t ask. even if you forget. there’s always a glass or a bottle on your nightstand when you crawl under the covers.

he kisses the inside of your wrist when he’s too tired to speak. when the day’s been too much. when his body hurts and his mind’s too loud — he pulls your hand to his mouth and presses his lips there.

he never lets you pump your own gas. doesn’t matter the weather. rain, snow, heatwave — he takes the keys and gets out before you even unbuckle. doesn’t say a word about it. just does it because it’s second nature now.

he always opens jars for you, even when you don’t ask. like you’ll just be holding it, about to try, and suddenly he’s there. doesn’t say anything, just takes it, opens it, hands it back.

he lets you warm your hands on him. no complaint, no hesitation. just grabs your frozen fingers and presses them to his neck, under his shirt, into his palms. grunts when it stings, but never pulls away. just says, “go ahead. s’okay.”

always lingers at the door when you leave. watches you walk to your car, stands there until you’re out of sight. won’t move. won’t blink. like part of him won’t settle until you’re home again.

he’s weirdly good at untangling necklaces. big hands, thick fingers, but somehow he’s patient as hell with tiny knots. sits at the table, squinting like he’s disarming a bomb.

he knows which drawer all your stuff is in. at his place, at your place, doesn’t matter — he knows where you keep your chargers, your snacks, your pain meds. grabs things before you even ask. sometimes you wonder how he pays that much attention. you forget — he’s a soldier. he notices everything about what he loves.

he lowkey judges your shoes. not fashion-wise — function. “you’re gonna walk five blocks in those?” and if you say yes, he just sighs and gives you his arm the whole time. doesn’t say another word. but if you stumble once? “told you.”

has a deep, secret love for hot chocolate. doesn’t ask for it, never buys it, but if you make it? he’s sipping it silently, eyes half-lidded, shoulders relaxed. you catch him making it for himself once. refuses to make eye contact.

he gets the mail before you can. every day. rain or shine. not because he cares what’s in it — because he wants to be the one to deal with anything stressful before it reaches you. bills, notices, whatever. you only ever get the fun stuff. the packages. the postcards.

he remembers anniversaries you forget. first date. first road trip. the day you moved in. doesn’t make a big deal out of it, just quietly brings home your favourite dinner or sets a movie up you mentioned on that day.

he absolutely has a favorite mug. won’t admit it. but if you’re ever using it, he pauses for a second like he’s been emotionally robbed. won’t take it back, though. just pours his coffee into something else and quietly hopes you offer to switch.

he fixes things that don’t even belong to him. neighbor’s broken porch light? fixed. squeaky gate down the block? doesn’t squeak anymore.

never lets you walk through the door first if it’s dark. goes in ahead of you, even if it’s your place. checks the rooms out of habit. flips the lights on.

knocks before entering your space, even when you live together. bathroom door cracked? he knocks. bedroom door half-closed? still knocks. doesn’t matter if he knows you’re alone — he respects your space.

weirdly good at calming you down in traffic. if you’re driving and someone cuts you off? hand on your thigh. if you're stressed about getting lost? “take the next right, i got you.”

he teaches you how to punch — gently. wraps your hands himself, touches your wrists like he’s afraid they’ll bruise. he holds the pads out and murmurs “that’s it, right there,” every time your form’s good. he doesn’t teach you so you can fight. he teaches you so you won’t ever feel helpless.

so careful when you’re sleeping. gets out of bed like you’re made of glass. turns the TV down low. covers you up without waking you, tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses your shoulder and just stares for a second like he still can’t believe he gets to have this.

he writes down your car’s license plate. and the make. and the year. and the tire pressure. keeps it in a little notebook in his glove box — not because he’s nosy, but because he needs to know in case anything ever happens.

puts his name down as your emergency contact without asking. just does it. one day you’re filling something out and he goes, “already on file.” like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like of course it’s me. who else?

he reads manuals. like, actually sits down and reads them. toasters. phones. whatever you buy, he knows how to fix it, clean it, use every setting.

he wears your hair ties on his wrist. even when you didn’t ask him to. finds them in the bathroom or under the couch and just keeps them there like it’s a reflex. you don’t notice until one day he silently hands you one without looking and you realize — he’s always paying attention.

calls you “kid” sometimes, even if you’re not younger. not condescending — it’s fond. soft. it slips out when he’s feeling protective. like, “c’mon, kid, get some rest,” or “you did good, kid.” and if anyone else calls you that, he bristles like no — mine.

he gets tense when you’re near windows at night. especially lit ones. moves around the room in ways that put him between you and the glass. not paranoid. just hardwired to protect you. you don’t notice until one night you go to close the curtains and he’s already there, pulling them shut with a soft, “let me get that.”

he texts you like he’s on a recon mission. all short updates: “headed back.” / “store’s packed.” / “traffic’s shit.” but every now and then, he’ll throw in something like “you eat yet?” or “thinking about you.” and those are the ones that wreck you a little.

he always leaves the porch light on if you're out late. even if you say you don’t need it. even if you’re only gone for ten minutes. it’s not about the light. it’s about you always having something to come home to.

he’s secretly a little superstitious about you. doesn’t let you say things like “what if something happens to you.” knocks on wood under the table. leaves the porch light on even when you’re only gone ten minutes. he’s seen too much not to be cautious. and you — you’re the one thing he refuses to lose.

double-knots your laces. crouches down in front of you without a word, doesn’t make it a thing. just ties them up snug and gives your ankle a gentle pat before standing.

sets your things by the door if you’re running late. bag, keys, jacket, water bottle. lines them up neatly like he’s giving you every small advantage he can. “you’re gonna be late,” he says, already handing you your coffee. you kiss his cheek on the way out. he pretends it didn’t make him smile.

he gets fussy if you don’t eat. doesn’t scold, just… fusses. quietly. starts cooking something without asking. sets a plate in front of you like “you don’t gotta finish it, just eat a little.”

wears your chapstick when he can’t find his. acts like it’s no big deal. “same stuff, right?” but if it smells like you he ends up keeping it in his pocket the rest of the day.

refills your water bottle. always. before bed. before work. if you leave it in the car, he brings it in and tops it off. just does it. in his head, hydration = survival = love.

he buys you medicine before you even realize you’re sick. notices you sniffling or rubbing your temples, and the next day it’s already there — cold meds, your favorite tea, tissues, cough drops.

started 4.27.2025. finished 4.29.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[autolinkcncmachine]

How does a wire bending machine contribute to producing kitchenware products?

A wire bending machine is an important tool in the production of kitchenware products, as it allows for the precise and efficient bending of wire into various shapes and sizes required for the production of kitchenware products such as Shelving, cooling racks, and baskets.

Shape and Size Customization:Wire bending machines can be programmed to be the wire into any desired shape and size. This enables kitchenware manufacturers to create customized products according to specific customer requirements

Increased Efficiency: The use of wire bending machines in the production of kitchenware products increases efficiency by reducing manual labor and increasing production speed. The machines can bend the wire at high speeds and with consistent precision, which results in a higher output of finished products.

Cost Reduction: The use of wire bending machines in the production of kitchenware products reduces the cost of production by reducing labor costs and increasing productivity. This can lead to cost savings for the manufacturer, which can be passed on to the consumer.

Consistent Quality: Wire bending machines ensure consistent quality of the finished products by producing wire shapes that are identical to each other. This ensures that each kitchenware product is of the same quality and meets the required standards.

Auto Link CNC wire bending machine is a valuable machine for creating intricate 2D or 3D shapes with precision, making it suitable for complex applications. Which are used to produce kitchenware products like ergonomic utensil handles, dish rack frameworks, basket and shelf components, cooling racks, and pot/pan handles. With precise bending and customization options, they ensure high-quality and functional kitchenware products.

[fear-is-truth]

Bestie hehe whose pullout game is worst and whose is best out of the characters Evan plays???

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑬𝑽𝑨𝑵𝑺 — 𝑷𝑼𝑳𝑳-𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑬

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march ‧ kai anderson ‧ peter maximoff ‧ colin zabel — nsfw ; MDNI 18+

a/n: hey bestie i love your mind

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍. (3/10)

his intentions are good. his execution? terrible. pull-out game is WEAK purely due to incompetence.

“fuck—wait, wait, oh shit, i was supposed to—”

feels guilty as hell afterward. “you don’t think i did it on purpose, right? you believe me, don’t you?”

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑. (2/10)

kit TRIES to be responsible. really, he does. but he’s also a man who fucks deep and loves even deeper.

a very passionate lover and in the heat of the moment, he forgets everything else.

honestly, he doesn’t even try that hard.

if you reminded him, he’d listen. but if you didn’t? yeah, he’s finishing inside.

if you got pregnant, he’d step up immediately. his pullout game is terrible but he’s a great dad.

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑. (10/10)

doesn’t take risks; he’s got a good head on his shoulders.

his timing and self control are actually great. the pull-out game is strong with this one.

even before he met you, kyle doesn’t sleep around like most of his frat brothers, even though he totally could.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆. (6/10)

jimmy knows he can’t afford to be reckless. he’s working in a freak show—not exactly the best place to raise a kid.

he also worries about passing on his ectrodactyly. even though you tell him constantly that it doesn’t matter.

most of the time, he cums on your tits or ass.

but when he’s drunk, he’s super impulsive, emotional. all self control flies out the window.

if you got knocked up, he’d have a mini breakdown and go on a two day bender but would also step up.

he will also propose immediately (after he gets his shit together)

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇. (10/10)

he is nothing if not disciplined.

if james ever decided to give you an heir, that decision was made long before the act.

lowkey has reservations because of bartholomew.

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍. (0/10)

kai never pulls out. he never intended to in the first place.

at first, he’ll act like it was an accident—just for plausible deniability. he’ll moan about how tight you are, how good you feel, and then when it happens:

“fuck—couldn’t help it. you feel too good, baby.” he’s fake guilty, kissing your shoulder, murmuring “next time i’ll pull out, promise.”

next time never came. (but he did. inside you) at some point, he just stopped pretending.

“this is how it’s supposed to be. why would i waste it anywhere but inside you?”

if you tell him you’re not ready for kids, he’ll say “women are biologically wired to want children. you’re just brainwashed by feminism.” (i hate this guy)

0/10 cos he’s actively TRYING to fail.

if you got pregnant? he’d be ecstatic.

⟢ 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐅. (5/10)

thinks he has great control, but he really, really doesn’t.

he’ll pull out last second. but he cuts it close EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

sometimes he miscalculates timing.

“uh. okay, okay—don’t freak out, but I MAY have just—wait, are you on the pill?”

⟢ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋. (9/10)

very responsible. colin respects boundaries and never pressures you into risky sex. always wears condoms unless you explicitly ask not to.

“you sure? ‘cause, uh, i got condoms—like, a lot. not a weird amount, just… y’know, normal.”

lowkey wants to have kids with you… but suppresses the “selfish” fantasy.

his one weakness? when he’s tipsy.

the one time you were both drunk, making out on the couch, which led to hot and sloppy sex. you felt so good and he was so lost in it, and then—

“oh, shit.”

immediate panic. full-body guilt. buys you plan b, also flowers and coffee because he feels guilty.

overall he’s very reliable, just that one slip-up.

[slutoru1207]

Nowhere to Run pt 2

GIF by red-rift

Mohawk Mark x Reader

The silence stretches between you and Mohawk Mark like a tense wire, but it's broken by the sound of his stomach growling loudly. It’s the kind of growl that could be heard by a mile away, echoing over the barren landscape like a dying animal’s last plea for food.

Mark winces, then shoots you a sideways glance. "Not my fault," he mutters defensively, as if you were somehow responsible for his digestive issues. "You wouldn’t believe how much energy it takes to look this good all the time."

You snort despite yourself, arms crossed tightly as you eye the horizon. "Yeah, I’m sure it takes a lot of energy to look like you just woke up in a dumpster after a bender."

"Hey," Mark says, raising an eyebrow. "I’ll have you know that I’m the pinnacle of rugged charm. These things take time. This?" He gestures to himself dramatically, "This is perfection in motion."

"Uh huh," you deadpan, scanning the wasteland for anything that could pass as a food source or even a way out of here. "If perfection means looking like you fought a rockslide and lost, then yeah. You’re totally perfect."

Mark chuckles, but the sound is short-lived as another growl erupts from his stomach, sounding almost ashamed.

"Okay, okay, you win," he says, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "But seriously, if we're gonna make it out of here, we need to find food. And I'm pretty sure you're not gonna find a McDonald's in this hellhole."

You squint at the desolate landscape, considering your options. "Well, unless you're planning to make some weird version of a rock salad, I don't think we're getting anything here. You're gonna have to survive on whatever wild survival instincts you have."

Mark gives a small sigh, muttering, "Great. Just what I need—survival training with you." But then he smirks. "I mean, I'm sure you'll be useful. You probably know how to catch a rabbit or something."

"Yeah, sure. And I'm sure you know how to make fire with your charming personality."

"I could," he counters, turning to face you fully now, his eyes gleaming with the same cocky confidence, "but I’m gonna need a good campfire companion to keep me entertained. You up for the challenge?"

"God help me," you mutter under your breath. "I’d rather deal with a mutant bear at this point."

The moment passes in a stretch of silence, and you both just stand there in the middle of nowhere. The tension between you is palpable, yet there's something oddly comfortable in the banter, as if this dysfunctional, sarcastic dynamic could be the only thing holding your sanity together in this vast, lonely wasteland.

Mark finally shakes his head and groans. "Look, we need to figure this out. And unless you’re secretly a survival expert, we’re gonna have to work together. But only because I’m feeling generous."

You snort. "Yeah, that’s definitely the reason."

"Yeah," he says, cracking his neck, "So, what’s the plan, huh? You got anything in that head of yours?"

You hesitate, narrowing your eyes at the horizon. "I don't know, you got any ideas besides annoying the hell out of me?"

His smirk returns. "Well, I was thinking we could wait for a dragon to fly by and swoop us out of here. Or... we could, y'know, just walk."

You blink at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious or just completely insane. "Oh sure, that’ll totally work."

Mark shrugs, still with that damned smirk on his face. "Hey, no harm in dreaming, right?"

You’re about to retort when your stomach rumbles, an embarrassing reminder that you haven’t eaten in hours either. You glance over at Mark, who’s still looking at you with a faintly amused expression.

"Alright, fine," you mutter. "We’ll walk. But if we end up eating dirt for dinner, I’m blaming you."

"Deal," Mark says, offering you an exaggerated bow. "Lead the way, oh wise survival expert."

You roll your eyes but can't suppress a small smile as you start walking, knowing this journey’s going to be anything but boring.

[system-to-the-madness]

In Shakles - Zuko x Reader

Word Count: 2 109 Warnings: Injuries, kidnapping, war Summary: While attempting to free the Avatar’s Sky Bison, Zuko stumbles into someone he had been longing to talk to A/N: Can be read as a oneshot; Part Three of the series Perfect (10 times Zuko thought you were perfect and the first time he told you)

Zuko was already walking as quietly as possible, but his steps still echoed back from the walls of the damp tunnels. He shouldn’t be surprised the walls were dripping with water. After all, he was in tunnels that ran along underneath a lake.

He didn’t know what it was, that made him turn left into the next corridor. Truth be told, he had no idea where he was going. He was looking for the cell where the Avatar’s Sky Bison was held, Appa. He had heard the name before, but it was also printed over all the flyers that had suddenly appeared in the city, and immediately re-sparked his desire to finally apprehend the Avatar.

He would find that Sky Bison, send a message to the Avatar, and have him walk right into a trap. Then, Zuko could capture him and take him back to the Fire Nation. His father would finally recognize his worth, his honour would be restored, and he could return home not just a prince, but also a hero.

The corridor into which he had turned was certainly big enough to manoeuvre a Sky Bison through. If he was lucky… carefully he approached the door at the end of the corridor, heavy stone but tall and wide. How big was that Sky Bison again? Would he fit through there?

Much to his surprise the heavy door was not locked and slid aside easily when Zuko pushed it open.  And he had been right, that strange tucking in his gut had led him straight to the hairy creature, all six legs shackled to the ground of the cell it was standing in.

“Expecting someone else,” he asked the Sky Bison, which threateningly lowered its head with the long horns, growling deeply.

Zuko rolled his eyes underneath the mask of the blue spirit and stepped into the cell, drawing his swords, when he suddenly noticed that not all six legs of the beast were shackled. Only five were. The shackles for the sixth leg lay broken on the ground.

Immediately the hair in his neck rose, and like an electric current a shiver ran through his body as he assumed a fighting stance.

“You didn’t undo those shackles by yourself,” Zuko said, more to himself than the Sky Bison, but he did not expect another human voice to answer him.

“What are you doing here?”

From behind the Sky Bison’s tail, you poked your head out, narrowing your eyes at Zuko, whose shoulders immediately dropped in relief. He had not seen you in what felt like forever, not since the battle at the northern Water Tribe.

He would be lying if he were to claim that any mental image other than your face glancing down at him was able to calm him after nightmares. How often had he spend the past weeks and months wondering what had become of you? If you had made it out of the battle unharmed, where you had gone next. In his head he had played through scenario after scenario what he would say and do when he saw you again, apologize for burning you, thank you for not leaving him behind in that snowstorm, explain why he had to capture the Avatar. You were a kind person, this much he had figured out by now, maybe you would understand why he was doing what he was doing. Of course he didn’t expect you to help him, or even stand by idly as he was trying to capture your friend, but maybe you could forgive him one day for his actions.

“Are you responsible for kidnapping Appa?”

The accusation in your voice was so sharp, that it felt like it was stabbing right into his heart. Angrily you marched from where you had hidden behind the Sky Bison over to Zuko, who was torn between what to do. Were you crazy? You knew he was a Fire Bender, not to mention that he was literally holding two swords right now, while you were only armed with a sword at your side and something that looked like a thin wire, which you probably had used to open the first shackle. But the fact that he was heavily armed seemed to escape your notice as you bore your finger into the leather of his thin armour.

“What did you plan to do with him, hm?” You pushed so hard against his chest that he took a step back. “Enslave him in the Fire Nation? Experiment on him? Use him as one of your-”

But before you could continue to accuse Zuko of any more atrocious intentions (although he suspected stealing the Sky Bison to use it to lure the Avatar into a trap wouldn’t sound much better to you), the door to the cell suddenly slipped open. Reflectively he turned around, assuming his fighting stance and the sound of a dagger being pulled behind his back made him suspect you were doing the same.

The silhouette in the door was not that of a guard, but instead the familiar, roundish form of his uncle, who carefully slid the door closed behind his back.

“Uncle,” he asked confused, standing up straight. Behind him, you seemed to be doing the same, hesitantly lowering your weapon.

“So, the Blue Spirit. I wonder who could be behind that mask ...” Iroh mumbled sarcastically. “And your girlfriend. How did she get here?”

“Not his girlfriend,” you hissed, and Zuko could hear how you were moving around, away from him and towards the Sky Bison. “I overheard some guards talking about Appa and didn’t have any time to get help from the others.” The rustling of metal made him suspect you had picked up where you had left off when he had entered the room, and gone back to picking the locks around the Sky Bison’s feet.

Right, your friends and the Avatar. You hardly were ever apart. And if you were here, that could only mean the Avatar was not too far away. He wanted to ask where the Avatar was, whether he was here with you, but instead he pulled the mask of the Blue Spirit off, and directed his attention back towards his uncle.

“What are you doing here,” Zuko asked annoyed, repeating the words you had asked him just a moment ago.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Uncle Iroh replied, beginning to walk over to Zuko. “What do you plan to do now that you've found the Avatar's bison? Keep him locked in our new apartment? Should I go put on a pot of tea for him?”

Zuko looked over his shoulder towards where you where kneeling, undoing the second shackle.

“First I have to get it out of here,” he mumbled.

Your eyes shot up to him as if you were about to blow up in his face, but his uncle was quicker.

“And then what!” Uncle Iroh’s voice echoed back from the walls around them, making Zuko flinch. “You never think these things through! This is exactly what happened when you captured the Avatar at the North Pole! You had him, and then you had nowhere to go!”

“I would have figured something out,” Zuko disagreed, suddenly realizing how childish his own voice sounded.

“No! If his friends,” Uncle Iroh pointed to you, sitting on the ground, “hadn't found you, you would have frozen to death!”

“I know my own destiny, Uncle,” Zuko turned back to the Sky Bison, but his eyes were on you. Were you part of that destiny he was chasing? He hoped you were; it couldn’t be a coincidence that he had found you, you of all people here with the Sky Bison he was trying to break out the same way he had once broken you out of prison. He looked back to his uncle.

“Is it your own destiny, or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you?”

The words felt like a poisoned blade slicing his skin. No, he couldn’t listen to this old man’s words. That man knew nothing about what it was like, being burnt and exiled by his own father, betrayed and sold for a fool by his sister.

“Stop it, Uncle,” Zuko turned his back to him. “I have to do this.” His uncle knew nothing about what Zuko had to suffer through, why he had to do this now!

“I’m begging you, Prince Zuko,” Iroh shouted. “It's time for you to look inward and begin asking yourself the big questions. Who are you, and what do you want?”

Zuko’s eyes flickered back to you, where you were kneeling on the floor, your hands swiftly undoing another shackle. You were focused on your work, entirely ignoring the two men shouting at one another. Your hair was bound back, out of your face so you could work undisturbed, your hands were covered in dirt, but your fingers were working with incredible precision on the shackle that sprung open with a quiet click. Not hesitating for a moment and not paying Zuko any attention, you moved on to the last shackle, not even once looking up.

It was then and there, that realization hit Zuko like a lightning. You were absolutely perfect, the way you were always loyal to your friends, unafraid to stand up and pick a fight for them, even when you were unarmed and faced a Fire Bender with two swords. You were clever, skilled, you probably had so many more skills that he would never learn about because you were perfect and he was only the Fire Nation’s exiled Prince, fallen into disgrace, striped of his honour, banished and damned to roam the world, forever chasing this unattainable goal of capturing his father’s greatest enemy, forever chasing after you, who got dangled right in front of him, just to show him how undeserving he was of even just the faintest slither of your attention.

With a scream of hurt and anger he threw his swords and his mask down to the ground, before looking up to where you were just getting to your feet after unchaining the beast before him.

“Get that Sky Bison and get out of here,” he rasped, unable to meet your eyes. “And be quick, the guards are dangerous here.”

He could feel the way both you and his uncle were staring at him, his uncle at the back of his head, you trying to catch his eyes, but he kept them stubbornly fixed on the ground.

For a moment there was silence in the cell, then your steps echoed back from the wall as you were walking across the room. Were you walking towards him? Would you thank him for letting the Sky Bison go without interfering with you? Would you try to knock him out so he couldn’t follow you? Was there a chance you would hug him, as a sign you understood why he had done all the things he had done that had harmed you?

A moment later, he could hear you climbing on the Sky Bison’s head. You had not walked over to Zuko, but to the animal instead.

“Appa, let’s get out of here,” you said, your voice so much softer than when you had spoken to Zuko or Iroh before.

The bison started moving, its steps surprisingly lightweight for such a huge animal, and when it brushed past Zuko, he couldn’t help but hopefully lift his eyes, hoping to catch a last glimpse of your face. But you were facing forwards, where Uncle Iroh had already opened the door for you to let out the Sky Bison, and your face was hidden in the shadows anyway.

A tucking in Zuko’s chest warned him that this might be the last time he got to see you, that he needed to apologize, for trying to capture the Avatar, for burning you all those months back. That he had to thank you for saving his life, that he had to tell you that the memory of your kindness, your fierceness, your courage was what kept his nightmares at bay, and that he only wished he could have gotten to know you under different circumstances so that you might have become friends. But his tongue was heavy like lead, his throat dry like the sandy deserts of the Earth Kingdom, and he couldn’t even open his mouth.

Instead, he had to watch you duck through the door, riding on the Sky Bison’s head, and disappear behind the next corner, leaving him alone in a huge, empty cell with his uncle and a million unspoken confessions.

Tags (it seems like some of the tags aren't working, sorry...): @ghoststookourlifes

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[beifong-brainrot]

Another controversial opinion from ✨️me✨️

You guys are SO wrong here. Like I hate powerscaling and these hypothetical fights but good fucking god. Don't get me wrong, Lin is an extremely skilled fighter, and it would probably be a close call, but I think Suyin is heavily underestimated here.

The first point people bring up is the fight between Su and Lin, and the fact that even when Lin was weakened, her and Su seemed to be evenly matched. Thing is, it's very obvious that Su wasn't going all out either. Between her primarily dodging and blocking Lin's attacks, focusing heavily on putting distance between her and Lin, and not taking all the shots she could've, it's pretty obvious that Su was playing for time. Waiting for Lin to 'get it out of her system', as she said.

Which, Su essentially allowing Lin to rage at her and verbally abuse her, and later physically attack her and just take it is a very interesting part of their relationship but oh well.

And we know this isn't Su going all out, because she immediately goes for the kill. She's a very aggresive and quick fighter, and can fight from both a ranged distance, and a melee one.

Suyin is a heavily agile, fluid fighter, and has an uncanny ability to use her surroundings to her advantage.

Another argument for Lin being a better fighter than Su is that Lin spends most of her time fighting criminals and triad members, while Su lives a primarily peaceful life. And, yeah, that is a very good point. Here are some other fighters who lived mostly peaceful lives and therefore struggled against their more combative contemporaries.

Like, yeah, you can argue that Lin has more combat on a day to day basis, but most likely it is triad mebers and petty criminals. We see that Lin struggles adapting to different enemies. Like the equalists very obviously threw her for a loop.

And I think that's one of Suyin's great strengths. She is a great strategist, very quickly adapting to a rare bender like P'li, coming up with the strategies to take her down.

Suyin combines intellect and speed, making her a very effective and adaptable bender. She's one of the most acrobatic benders, not only using her wires to move around, but she just has mad hops.

Suyin also seems to have taken the Iroh method of learning from other benders, as her bending heavily resembled waterbending with its fluidity and usage of momentum, while her propensity to dodge and use her surroundings bears the hallmarks of airbending. This is not surprising, since Suyin is a very well travelled person, as well as had established a diverse city.

While Lin uses very typical earthbending movements, prioritising stregth and power. She packs a punch, but that probably leads to longterm strain. Like Lin strains her entire body to bend the earth, while Su utilses momentum her body already has. And I think that honestly represents the sisters' personalities very well.

Lin bends harder, and Suyin bends smarter. And in the world of Avatar, there's a pattern of the creative and innovative being the most cabable fighters.

[blackkatmagic]

for the ask game! how about granta omega?

Sometimes, there are doors to the spirit world in the most convenient places.

Granta slips out of the wild tangle of electric and organic and into the sterile halls of the Senate building, light on his feet in the darkness. The air here hums, heavy and dark, and Granta breathes it in and smiles.

It never fails to satisfy, the fact that so many thousands of benders and Force-sensitives are so desperately chasing one poor, powerless thief around Coruscant, howling like tookas that just got their tails stepped on.

Well. For certain definitions of powerless. And poor.

Pulling his hood up, Granta hums a quiet tune, scanning the Vice-Chancellor’s office. Mas Amedda isn't quite stupid enough to leave proof of his involvement with the Sith out in the open, but it’s a near thing. And he’s certainly not that careful with proof of his corruption. If Granta didn’t know better, he’d think Mas Amedda was outright asking for someone to blackmail him into betraying Palpatine, and, well. Granta will graciously take him up on the offer if he’s so desperate for it.

It only takes a few moments of slicing to find what he needs, and Granta tucks the data chips away in his coat, neatens the office to erase all signs of his presence, and heads for the hall. There’s another door into the spirit world three levels down that opens up in a plain half-consumed by wires that grow and leaf like vines, and from there Granta knows a path through one of the more misanthropic spirits’ territory, leading to another exit deep in the Undercity. As much as Granta enjoys making the Senate Guard pull their collective hair out over his entrances and exits, sometimes it’s more productive to get out with less of a fuss—

Glass cracks, shatters, and the wind howls like an enraged thing, so strong that for an instant Granta is almost spun off his feet. He snarls a curse, wrenches around, and stopping a bender’s power is possible but not here, not suddenly. Getting away is a better plan, because once Granta is out of sight he’ll be faceless, unremarkable even to a clone trooper.

When he goes to run, though, the airborne shards of glass that are supposed to be shatterproof are still spinning through the air, and the trooper in the center of the storm has his blaster up and aimed, perfectly steady despite the gale.

All benders are at least a little annoying, in Granta's perfectly objective opinion, but airbenders are some of the worst.

“Surrender,” the clone says, a clear warning, and Granta rolls his eyes even as he takes a half-step back, gaze flickering up and down the hall. Getting back into the spirit world is possible even without retreating to the door he emerged from, but the idea of giving away what he is so early in the game is disappointing. Granta was hoping to see the Guard scramble around looking for clues for at least another few weeks while he set up all the pieces on the board.

“Little old me?” Granta asks, pitched to faux innocence that’s meant to infuriate. He takes another step back, calculating his odds of getting into Mas Amedda’s office again before the clone can reach it. “I'm just doing my civic duty. Shaking off a few cobwebs, uncovering the truth about our esteemed leaders. Are you really going to persecute me for that?”

“No,” the clone says, entirely, delightfully unimpressed. “I'm going to persecute you for burglary and breaking and entering. Hands up.”

Obligingly, Granta raises his hands, palming one of his knives as he goes. “Really,” he drawls. “How uninspired of you. Commander, wasn’t it? I think I've seen you around before—”

Movement. Impossibly quick, almost as quick as a Jedi, with the force of a hurricane behind it. Granta flings the knife even as he throws himself to the side, hits the ground and rolls beneath a scything kick, a burst of air so concentrated that it leaves a dent in the wall. It just misses him, though, and Granta whirls grabs for the blaster at the small of his back and puts two shots in the air—

Impact, hard enough to steal his breath, and the clone commander slams him up against the wall with all the force of a tornado, grabs for his hood—

The face is as easy to slip into as a new coat, and Granta throws his hands up, turns his cheek like he’s braced for a blow as the dark hood falls away. The commander freezes, breath catching audibly, and Granta looks up at him with a clone’s face, eyes wide.

“Commander,” he says, and it wavers, almost cracks—

“Fox!” another clone shouts, and instantly Fox is moving again, grabbing. Granta throws himself to the side, but Fox follows him, hits the ground on top of him, and Granta laughs as he lets his own face flicker back into being.

“Fox,” he repeats, halfway to mocking. “What a good name.” In an instant he’s pulled that face up, twists out of Fox’s grip as a sleek black fox and flips free, then bolts sideways even as the other clones lunge to catch him. This shape is quicker than a Human, though, and in an instant he’s hurtling back towards Mas Amedda’s office, rounding a corner with Fox scrambling behind him—

One step sideways, a leap, and he’s back in the spirit world, landing lightly amidst a forest of trees with metal-veined leaves, the mortal world falling way behind him.

“Thank you, Mother of Faces,” he says lightly, and when he rises it’s as a Human again. The opposable thumbs are so useful, after all, even if wearing different faces all his life has left him only vaguely attached to any of them.

And then, with a whirling gust, wind sweeps through the forest, rattling the tree leaves and startling Granta. He whirls, and across the half-there shimmer of distance that marks the separation, he can just see Fox in his bright red armor, stalking up the hall and straight towards the spot where Granta vanished. He stops there, close enough to touch, and even if Granta can't hear what he says when he raises his comm, he can guess. Laughs, leans in, and there's no way for Fox to feel the brush of fingertips that aren't in the same plane, but Fox still pauses, turns his head.

“How interesting,” Granta says, and he can feel the shard of the Mother of Faces inside him, present since the moment he was born, turn towards Fox in contemplation. She likes the clones, so set in their identity, forging their own faces out of sameness. And that makes Granta like them, too.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he can't play a few games, particularly when it comes to toying with Fox. The man is interesting, after all.

[prettyboy-parker]

changing

tony gets out of rehab.

tws for addiction, substance abuse, vomiting, angst.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

It’s day 73 when the call comes. 

Peter is technically on the clock, hunched over his notebook in one of the staff laboratories. He’s supposed to be working on the project proposal he was assigned over a month ago, but he shoved those papers somewhere in his office when he hit a mental roadblock. He’s thinking about the various applications he saved on LinkedIn, about how his time at Stark Industries is creeping closer and closer to being over, when his phone lights up and vibrates on the desk.

Tony, the screen reads. 

Peter feels like he could throw up, cry, scream, and throw something all at the same time. But instead he very calmly picks up his phone and answers the call.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Pete,” Tony breathes, and hearing his deep voice for the first time in months makes Peter’s heart ache. But he reminds himself to stay neutral; he knows how Tony can sweet talk. “How are you? I told Pepper to wire you enough money to keep you okay for now, but I don’t know if she actually did. I heard about the whole penthouse thing, I get it’s a liability but god, I wish I could’ve done something to help-“

“Hey.” Peter interrupts, grabbing his keys and heading into the hallway to take the call. “I’m fine, Tony. When did your program end?” He knows when the program ended. He’s been counting the days on his calendar. 

Tony is silent for a second. 

“A couple weeks ago. My therapist told me it would be best to wait a bit until I called you. I’d rather not have her boss me around but I know she’s probably right.”

Tony laughs dryly, and they fall into an awkward silence.

“Look, Pete-“

“It’s going to take time, Tony,” Peter says softly. “You sound like—you sound good. But I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

It hurts him to say. He loves Tony with his entire being, but he wants to cry and cuss him out and curse him for something that he was never totally in control of. It would be so easy to say nothing, pretend like nothing ever happened, to go back to how everything was. But Peter can’t do it. He can’t do it all again.

“Yeah, that—yeah. Okay.” 

Peter stares at the white wall in front of him. There’s a vinyl graphic printed on it in black: Everyday is another step towards shaping the future. A mouthful of a slogan if you asked him. 

“I’m going to go, Tony. I’ll call you later.” 

“Sure, yeah. I lo—I’ll talk to you soon.” 

Peter ends the call.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“Make you a drink, Pete? It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.”

Peter looks up from his textbook at Tony, who’s standing behind his personal bar. It’s a bar so impressive he’s sure it rivals the most exclusive clubs in New York. Tony looks good—dress shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loosened around his neck from a long day of work.

“No thanks,” Peter says with a smile.

“More for me, then,” Tony replies.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Tony Stark went to rehab for the first time after he graduated from MIT.

His dad said he’d either get clean, or he’d be completely cut off from any future involvement in Stark Industries. If it wasn’t for the contract presented to him, Tony would’ve thought Howard was just bluffing. 

He was sent upstate to some egregiously expensive rehabilitation center, away from the prying eyes of the press. He jerked around and didn’t take it seriously, but it was enough to convince his father that he wasn’t going to end up dead off a bender. He still drank a lot after that, but he saved the coke for special occasions. 

And then—well, and then his dad died, and it was his turn to run the company, and he almost died in a cave in Afghanistan, and then there was the whole Iron Man thing. 

So, he drank. When being Iron Man started wearing down his body, the alcohol helped ease the pain. He’d show up to board meetings with a drink in hand and get trashed at his own charity events. Everything became impossible to do on his own. And then the coke came back, making him pull all-nighters in the lab, so wired he could barely keep his hands still. And that’s just how Tony was—how he became.  

But then he met Peter. 

Tony’s never changed for anyone. He’s stubborn like that; too caught up in his own habits to ever want to change them. But Peter fell into his life in a whirlwind of eagerness, wits, and a heart too big for his own good. Years went by, they saved the world, and then Peter walked away. 

He tried picking a fight with him. Probably over something stupid, he can’t remember. He said mean things. Loving someone means you know all their insecurities, their fears. He knew which buttons to press to make Peter really hurt. Tony has always gotten a thrill out of riling people up, whether at press conferences or company meetings. And then he did it to Peter. He was crying so much, could barely form a sentence as he hurriedly packed an overnight bag. Goodbye, Tony, he had said, stepping into the elevator and asking FRIDAY to take him downstairs.

Tony can’t remember much of the week after. He completely cleared out the cabinet where he keeps his good liquor and made the mistake of reaching out to old acquaintances from his 20s. Once a bad influence, always a bad influence it seems. 

As soon as he was conscious enough to listen, Pepper flipped out on him. She screamed and cried a little and turned bright red, before telling him he needed to go to rehab or she’d get the board to vote to remove him as a shareholder.

There was a lot of back and forth. He would almost ask FRIDAY to wire over the tens of thousands of dollars treatment would cost, but then back out at the last second. He’s Tony Stark, he can do whatever he wants. He doesn’t have to listen to Pepper or the board, they’re not his parents. 

He thought he’d made up his mind. That was until Peter wanted to come by the penthouse to get the rest of his stuff, but requested Tony to be vacant during the time he was there. 

He flew to California the next day.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

Peter smiles, sighing happily as he leans in to press his lips to Tony’s. Tony licks along his lower lip, but Peter winces when he tastes the whiskey on Tony’s lips. He’s lowered gently onto the bed, sinking into the soft, silken sheets as Tony climbs on top of him. 

“Tony,” Peter breathes, the scrape of Tony’s facial hair against his neck making him shiver. Peter jerks his hips upwards, searching for the friction of Tony’s cock against his own.

“Just give me a bit Pete, I promise I’ll be ready for you soon,” Tony murmurs between kisses against Peter’s flushed skin. 

Peter is just about to ask him what he means when he’s flipped over onto his knees.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

They see each other for the first time in three months at a coffee shop.

Tony is standing outside awkwardly, waiting for Peter to arrive. He has his hood pulled up over his head and his hands are shoved into his pockets. He looks anxious, continuously looking back and forth across the street. Peter watches from afar as he mutters something under his breath, most likely to FRIDAY. 

Peter exhales deeply as he turns the corner for real (he was not stalking, okay?) and clears his throat to get Tony’s attention. The older man whips off his sunglasses, hands shaking ever so slightly as he tucks them into his pocket.

He looks good. Better, most definitely. He’s gained some of the weight back that he’d lost, and the circles under his eyes are much less dark than before. He still seems unsure of himself, missing that signature Tony Stark charm.

“Peter!” Tony calls out. On instinct, they both move to do something—hug? Shake hands? Kiss? But Peter decides on a shy wave instead.

“Hey, Tony. Good to see you made it in one piece.” 

Tony smiles. “I’m lucky I didn’t get jumped the moment I stepped out of the tower.”

Peter laughs, genuine this time. Tony holds the door open for him, gesturing to him to go inside first. They find a small booth in the corner of the cafe, tucked away from prying eyes. 

“You look nice,” Tony says once they sit down, looking at Peter’s layered top and sweater. “Very librarian chic. I like it.”

“Ha. When do I get to tell you you’re being too loud?” He snorts, and that makes Tony laugh.

It’s so easy. Being with Tony is so easy, it feels so right. It makes him feel good, especially since Tony’s jokes feel softer around the edges. He’s being careful, obviously, but he so clearly wants Peter to be pleased. Tony has never been subtle. 

They stay in the cafe for another hour and a half. When they leave, Tony gives him a warm smile and waves him goodbye. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

He can barely look when he does it. 

He can hear the tap tap tap of Tony’s metal Amex card on the lab table, the soft scrape of the metal against the steel. Peter tightens his grip on his pencil, trying to focus on scribbling out whatever note he started to write. He doesn’t know what’s worse: pretending not to care, or watching with disdain. Peter hates watching Tony when he does a line. Hates how his hands shake while cutting it, hates how he scrambles for his handkerchief as his nose begins to bleed. It makes Peter feel sick.

“You okay, baby?” Tony asks from behind. He's still sniffing. 

“Yeah,” Peter replies quietly. “I’m fine.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Peter’s filling out an application for a bio engineer position at a new medical startup when his phone buzzes.

Tony: Hey Peter

Tony: If you’re not interested, no problem, but what do you think about a picnic on Saturday?

Tony: I can rent out the park 

Peter snorts as he unlocks his phone. Renting out a public park is as Tony as it gets.

Peter: Sounds fun. I’m not that spoiled, I can exist with other plebeians in public 

Tony: haha very funny. Be ready at 2

Peter feels like he has butterflies in his stomach as he adds the date to his calendar. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Their alarm clock says 2:03 AM.

Peter is staring at the ceiling. The warm light from the master bathroom spills over into the bedroom. He hears Tony heaving, groaning into the toilet bowl. He’s already thrown up what little contents were in his stomach—now he’s just dry heaving. 

Peter’s been listening. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“I think all my problems are solved when I lay in the sun.”

Peter’s sprawled out on the picnic blanket, their finished meal pushed to the side. Tony’s looking at him through the tint of his sunglasses. 

“You’re telling me.” He chuckles softly, taking a sip of his sparkling water. “Maybe they were right about Vitamin D.”

They sit in silence for a while. Peter listens to the chirping of the birds, the fluttering of their wings. The wind rustles the leaves of the trees above them. In the distance, a child squeals in delight as their parent kicks a soccer ball to them. He listens to the soft rise and fall of Tony’s breathing.

“Hey Pete?”

“Hm?” Peter asks. 

“I’m sorry. For everything—for the voicemails, for it all. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“I know, Tony.” Peter replies. “Thank you.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“You embarrassed me, Tony.” 

Peter shucks his suit jacket off, tossing it onto the couch. He’ll get it tomorrow morning. Tony sinks into the big leather chair across from him, loosening his tie.

“I didn’t embarrass you.” Tony barks out a laugh, but it comes across more bitter than it should. “Get me a drink, will you?”

Peter scowls, shooting Tony a look. His partner is staring at him expectantly, eyes bloodshot.

“You almost got into a fight with Osborn. You insulted an attendee’s mother. You made a scene when I said I didn’t want to dance with you. Of course I was embarrassed.”

Peter feels frustrated tears prick the corners of his eyes. He toes off his shoes while Tony gets back up and heads to their drink cart. He doesn’t even bother getting a glass, just grabs the bottle of bourbon.

“If anyone should be embarrassed, s’me,” He slurs, nearly tripping over Peter’s dress shoes as he approaches the other man. “M’sorry. I can make it up to you.”

Peter tenses with anger when Tony grabs him by the wrist and kisses the top of his head. 

“No, Tony. I’m going to bed.” Peter wrenches his wrist out of Tony’s grip. His eyes blur with tears. He tries to wipe them away with the back of his hands; he can’t look Tony in the eyes. 

“Fuck you,” Tony spits, and Peter cringes. The coke makes him so, so mean. “Refusing to dance with me, even after all I’ve done for you, un-fucking-believable-“

Peter’s shoulders shake as he disappears into the guest room. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

A month later Tony takes him out to dinner to celebrate his new position at a private lab, working for a researcher named Dr. Reed Richards.

It’s extravagant and familiar. The menu has no prices on it, and most of the dishes Peter can’t even pronounce. The waiter keeps calling them sirs. 

Tony’s cleaned up nicely. He’s wearing a three piece suit in a dark grey, his beard and hair freshly trimmed. Peter likes Tony like this: healthy. He likes when Tony laughs at his jokes, smile lines wrinkling around his mouth and eyes. He likes catching Tony listening intently as Peter describes the new projects he’s working on. 

They’re leaving the restaurant as they discuss Peter’s prototype for a regenerative bandage based on his web fluid. It’s so normal, this intellectual back and forth. God, he misses working with Tony in the lab. 

Peter is in the middle of describing a possible equation change for a prototype when he realizes Tony has stopped listening. Peter trails off, meeting Tony’s heavy gaze. 

“Can I kiss you?” Tony asks softly. He waits for Peter’s answer, but he doesn’t have to wait long. 

“Please,” Peter murmurs, reaching out to grab Tony’s waist, and—

They kiss. 

[askviktor]

have you ever thought about getting a wheelchair? Currently contemplating (femoral retroversion sucks man) It is overall less painful. Btw love u pookie (hear me out Klein’s paradox)

I am a stubborn man. I do not relish the thought of being pushed from place to place, and I believe that the strength needed to continually operate one myself would be taxing. I am used to using a cane, and so I continue to do so. Please let me know how you fare moving forward. As for Klein’s paradox — a beautiful mind-bender, no? The idea that a relativistic particle might tunnel into a potential barrier more easily when the barrier is impossibly high is not unlike our situation. When the world erects towering obstacles, those of us wired differently sometimes pass through them not by brute force, but by a physics of our own.

[suzyandthefox]

originally I was saving these for my fics

But @opikarts 's spree just made me impatient so here are some concepts, feel free to use

((All of these are meant to be used in soft-safe nonsexual scenarios))

1: Pred is laying down/relaxing with a hand over their belly, when someone gets inside the room, the pred just gently shushes them and lifts a finger to their lips, someone is sleeping.

2: Prey keeps having nightmares, one day they get eaten by pred and,they don't have these nightmares anymore, it could be because they're finally feeling safe, or because the environment itself is constantly hugging them and reassuring them, or even because the pred feeds on nightmares.

3: Experienced/older pred guiding a younger pred who is newer to the experience, maybe they did it in a state of panic or by accident, it could also be an experienced observer guiding the younger pred, hell, it can even be an experienced prey training the pred! (Can you tell that I am normal about the mentor trope?)

4: Usual pred becoming prey

5:Usual prey becoming pred

6: Pred being able to literally feel their prey's emotions or vice versa, getting empathetic towards them because they're literally inside them.

7: By extension, Prey being able to hear the pred's thoughts or vice versa.

8: Being an inch away from being swallowed, prey has to choose between the unforgiving conditions the pred snatched them from or being eaten alive (of course they choose being eaten,duh)

9: Werewolf pred losing control during the full moon (or a vampire during a frenzy) and devours a prey whole (bonus if someone they care about), Prey is still alive after the craze wears off and they gently (or not) try to inform their pred that they're here and they want out.

10:Wish granting preds! Like Djinns! You wish for a home or a family or a friend, or just company in general, and they go "This one is on me" and they eat you up instead, now you have a nice place to stay and a friend that cares about you.

Or they just grant you wishes in exchange for eating you.

11: Wish granting prey! They grant you wishes in exchange for temporary living in your tummy

12: Jailers acting as living prison cells for tinies (Bonus if it's actually smuggling them)

13: Giant prisoners being given tiny cellmates as food instead of regular food (Bonus if the giant is a monstrous being, like a naga or a dragon)

14: Restuarant that serves the tinies trope, except it's an illegal establishment, so a detective goes to investigate under cover, and in order to act natural they have to "sample " the food (it's practically a rescue mission for the poor tiny), plus, the detective has evidence now.

15: Preds that tease you to no end but will immediately be the most gentle, careful,loving preds as soon as you show real distress.

16: Reality Bender preds, you're never actually sure if they actually devoured you or did they put you in the illusion of being eaten

17: Getting curious about a giant robot and accidentally falling too deep in their system, surrounded by wires,cables, or even cogs. Scared of being crushed to death by their metallic parts you cry for help, and they start gently guiding you inside their body, telling you the way to the safe parts within them.

18: Tiny surgeon/doctor that got lost inside their patient.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Desperate Fool - Part 5

Part 4

Last Time: Nancy had an unexpected guest while filling Eddie in on everything he's missed over the past year. Now: Nancy finally tells him what's going on with Steve

~~~

Nancy starts the story at the beginning of the end. 

Robin, Max, and Lucas flew out to LA and spent the last three days of Eddie’s ten day bender loading up boxes, carving Steve out of his life. After severing her lease, Robin and Steve moved into a small apartment in Chicago, only a train ride away from Dustin– which worked out when Steve struggled to leave the house for the first two months. All of the arcade and game store money Steve spent on the kids over the years was paid back in full to help cover the rent.

Eddie remembers the moment he opened their front door to a hollowed-out home. No toothbrush by the sink. No gold, wire-framed glasses on the nightstand. Just Steve’s matching guitar pick necklace next to two silver house keys, and a note which said ”don’t call” in Robin’s looped handwriting.

The first few months after Steve moved out are just a whirlwind in his memory. Countless parties and late nights and warm beds buried his grief, keeping it at bay, at least for a while.

Then Corroded Coffin’s new album Love Me. Hate Me. Fuck Me. Free Me. dropped. Eddie's lyrics filled to the brim with seething disdain, heavy with angst. The album found its target audience faster than anyone had expected, launching Corroded Coffin from an opener to a headliner in only a few months. 

The collective internet started raiding his past like the trash heap it was, and that’s when the interviews started. He was forced to defend his sexuality, his adoption, his shitty parents. Answering questions at the whims of anyone with internet access. Eddie held the rage like a lifeline, letting it fuel his shows and lace his words. 

He'd started showing up high to interviews. Even though he’s six months sober now, he’s never gone back and watched them, too afraid of what he’d find. He knows questions about his exes came up a few times. He can't remember what his answers were. Probably doesn't want to, with how his younger fans reacted. 

That doesn’t stop Nancy and she doesn’t sugar coat it for him. She tells him paparazzi and angry fans camped outside Steve's apartment building for weeks after Eddie mentioned Steve's full name in a drunken livestream. They were served an eviction notice a week after a fan threw a milkshake at Robin as she tried to open the front door. Steve was able to pull her inside, but his appearance only incensed the crowd into vandalizing their building. Apparently people didn’t take kindly to the idea of Steve dating a woman, proof that he only used Eddie as some sort of queer experiment. Like they hadn’t been together for almost eight years. 

Moving out required coordination and a decoy moving van, like something out of a goddamn heist movie. According to Nancy, that’s exactly what it was. They packed up their things for the second time, and were out within twenty-four hours. The kids snuck the two through the back in the dead of night, with Nancy dressed as Robin and Jonathan as Steve leaving out the front to distract the crowd. 

Looking back, he can’t believe how naive he’d been to think there’d be no real-world consequences. Eddie used the album as an opportunity to purge himself of overwhelming emotion and pour them into the music, like he always did. He indulged in the recurring fantasy of Steve holed up in his bedroom, brooding and crying while listening to Eddie’s songs over and over again. But he never thought for a second he’d be putting Steve in actual danger, let alone Robin or anyone else.

Nancy says that’s when they moved into her and Jonathan’s guest bedroom for two months. It was awkward at best, and difficult at worst. Steve would walk in on Nancy and Jonathan in the middle of a conversation about Eddie, or catch them watching interview clips. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, Steve seemed to see right through her. 

“Eddie,” Nancy sighs, wiping a stray tear from her eye, “I don’t think you understand how hard it was on everyone, not just Steve. You didn’t seem to care what we had to say, and when you called, you’d never ask about us. You only ever talked about yourself. All we heard about was Metal Munson, then had to watch Steve struggle with it all. It just– we didn’t know what to do.”

It took him longer than it should have to notice, since he didn’t call often. He was too relieved to care about the lack of messages or missed calls, sick of everyone constantly begging him to slow down. They’d see him online at some party or another, dancing next to some boy he’d never remember or drinking bottles on top of bars. Every new viral video brought a wave of concerned phone calls from Nancy and his friends. So really, it’s no surprise at all that he didn’t notice the change right away.

Because if Nancy’s timing is right, the month Steve and Robin moved in was when his family started blocking all contact with him.

~~~

ao3 (Homesick)

Alright turns out I'm terrible with exposition so this chapter is taking me FOREVER! I'm relatively happy with this part though so I'm ready to share. So I'm breaking it into bite sized pieces

Ooooo ALSO I started uploading all of A Desperate Fool to ao3 under the series Homesick. I'm going for full chapter updates on ao3 and little snippet updates here, so Tumblr might be just slightly ahead (never far though). Not sure what the rules are for marking the fic Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson when they never interact, and Steve isn't even there, even though that's what the whole fic is about. Idk I tried to make it clear!

I've talked about how the first chapter with Robin was supposed to be a one-off. But the overall concept was born from the song If It Means A Lot To You by A Day To Remember. That song is gut wrenching, so hopefully my fic is too!

Part 6

Tag List!!!

@sadisticaltarts @5ammi90 @blacklegsanji21

[autolinkcncmachine]

CNC Wire Bending Machine

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by recreating the programmed design on a regular basis.

Product Debugging 3D Simulation - Allows you to correct dimensions before it's too late.

[actuallysaiyan]

|Come Down And Waste Away With Me| Chapter One: I Am Here.

warnings: angst, mentions of death, set during the final war arc, mentions of alcohol, very heavy and dark themes, mentions of wounds, driving under the influence, self-deprecation, hospital stay, Reader has a quirk and a hero name pairings: All Might/Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Disgraced Hero!Reader summary: the last time you saw Valorie was when the car had flipped and you were seeing her lose her life. while in the hospital during the end of the final war, you begin to lose hope that you're even cut out to be a good person. someone hears your cries for help, and he shows you a light.

dividers: @adornedwithlight

taglist: @cherryblossombankai

masterlist

In the year 20xx…

Here we are at the scene of the crime. Last night was the tragic car accident that took the life of Spectral Valor, also known as Valorie Teagan, and left about half a dozen others injured. What was speculated as foul play at first ended up being corrected as driving under the influence. Also in the vehicle with Spectral Valor was the electrokinetic hero known as Haywire. More details at six…

“You could have died!” A voice yells at you through your drunken stupor.

Here you rest in your hospital bed. Wires and tubes poking and prodding and coming from your mangled body. You fractured your tibia causing you the most pain, followed by the few cracked ribs. A concussion, a few chipped teeth, a fractured tibia, three cracked ribs…

But really none of them hurt more than losing your best friend. Valorie was your glue. She was the angel that helped you shine. Even while you were becoming a hero, she was always right there with you. It hurt you to think you’d never get to see that smile again. You’d never hear her laughter again. You tried to not cry, but it was so fucking hard.

“Did you hear me, Haywire?! You could have died! I can’t deal with this shit anymore.”

It’s the voice of your manager. Why would a hero need a manager? You don’t know, but you had a feeling it had to do with all the club life you were leading. The drinking, the drugs, the week long benders you’d go on…it’s not good for a hero of your stature. Yet you were so good at hiding it. 

“Ken,” you try to say despite your throat having a lump in it. “Ken, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry, kid. I promised your parents I’d take care of you, but I can’t.”

Oh yeah…Kento had been a family friend. When you lost your parents, he promised to take good care of you. You lost your parents at a young age. They had died doing what they love, saving the world.

“I promise,” you swallow hard. “I promise, I’ll do better.”

Kento sits on the edge of the bed. He runs his fingers through his sandy blond hair. He then sheds a few of his own tears, wiping them away and facing you. He presses his hand carefully on the cast that is on your left leg.

“The agency is dropping you. Or at least, that’s the gist of what I understood.”

You looked away ashamed. “Is anyone still in that building? Isn’t there a war going on?”

Kento laughs sarcastically. He explains to you that even with the war happening, and with the crumbling of society, the agency you still worked for had decided to shut its doors for the time being. Instead of healing and getting to go back to it after, you were being pushed out.

“Sorry kid, but I can’t fix this one.”

That had been three weeks ago. You got your official letter about two days after that conversation. You didn’t get many visitors in the hospital. Especially not with all the heroes coming back from the war. All For One had been defeated. Even that young kid, Shigaraki, had been defeated. Somehow you were clinging to those details as a means to cope with Valorie’s death.

Then you got your hands on a smartphone. You were able to keep up with the battle a lot better this way. Things had seemed so dire for so long. The way things could have ended made you nervous. It wracked you with guilt. You weren’t out there helping. You were just a waste of space. All you were was good for nothing. You couldn’t even contribute to the fight to save humanity and heroes alike.

Rotting in a hospital room after everything that was going on, you begin to wonder if maybe you should have died in that stupid car crash as well. You had been the one to procure the alcohol that night. You were the one who stupidly coaxed Valorie into driving back home. Things had been so bleak for heroes. Nobody trusted you. This only made you feel worse, turning to drugs and alcohol even harder to cope with this shit.

You remember the way you felt when you finally opened your eyes. Just once…just once before passing out again. Seeing her lifeless body next to you. The car had flipped multiple times. Nothing hurt at the time because of the shock, but seeing her…oh Valorie had been so beautiful.

Her life was snuffed out before it even truly began. You had wanted so desperately to start your own agency with her. That had been the plan. You two would have gone on to do such amazing things. And here you had been, looking at the lifeless body of your truest friend.

In the history of assholes, you wondered if maybe you were going to take the top spot. Nothing could make you feel any better. You hated yourself for being so weak to addiction. So weak to addiction that you couldn’t even properly contribute to the world. People were out there risking their lives to keep everyone safe, and you were partying.

And now, you were in the hospital, taking up space.

And even worse, was that you were in the same hospital as Him.

All Might.

The man, the legend, the strongest…

Call him whatever you want, but he also ended up in the same hospital as you. While you were out partying in the wreckage of Japan and getting in the fatal car accident that killed your friend, he and all the other pro heroes had been fighting the good fight. The dread and the pain you felt deep inside of you kept you from wanting anyone but your manager, Kento, to come visit.

Still, you had been curious about the extent of All Might’s injuries. After the battle in Kamino Ward, you had found out about his secret along with everyone else in the world. You still tried to cling to having him as your idol.  You tried your best to see the good in him, just like everyone else had accepted. But soon when people stopped seeing the heroes as the good guys, they started to see that their Symbol Of Peace wasn’t going to be the one to save them. Everyone else basically dropped him like yesterday’s news, but you always looked up to the man.

That’s what kept you and Valorie close. A transfer student from America, Valorie had been very interested in meeting All Might. She was a big fan of his, memorizing all the battles he had in America. The shine in her eyes is what made you become even more fanatical of the man.

She was a shining force and you lost her. You lost the one person in this world that knew you more than anyone else. She was always the one to lift you up when you truly needed it. She was the one to show you the logical way of things.

But times were tough. People started to distrust the heroes. They didn’t want heroes to come help. Even prior to that, you and Valorie had enjoyed the fame and fortune that came with being pro heroes. You had indulged in all sorts of things from time to time, but you never thought you’d get to the point you were now.

You were clinging to anything in a way of coping with this. With the fighting going on outside, you hadn’t been sure if Valorie even got a proper funeral. It didn’t matter, you thought to yourself, because you weren’t going to be able to go. You were confined to this hospital bed for some time.

And with that came the change of rooms…

It all happened so fast. One day you were in a room by yourself, the next day you were being wheeled into another room. The curtains had been drawn around the other occupant in this room. As nosy as you were, you couldn’t quite just get out of bed and find out who it was. Still, you could tell that whoever it was, they were in worse shape than you were.

Lots of rooms were going to be pretty full now. The beds would be needed for those who actually put their lives on the line. Unlike you, the waste of space. You cried often, trying to hide it from your roommate. You tried to desperately keep your sobs low. Thankfully, whoever was in this room with you was often sleeping.

You longed to be able to walk again. The doctors said it would be a while before you were up and doing that. But you hadn’t lost the use of your leg. You’d be going through lots of extended physical therapy to go along with the rehabilitation and emotional therapy you’d be going through as well.

Crying had been the soothing balm at first, but the less Kento came to visit you, the lonelier you got. You heard all kinds of things from the hallways. The news that the doctors would give you had just made you feel even worse. And the one person who came to visit you that wasn’t your manager had been Valorie’s mother. She was very sympathetic with you, which truly surprised you.

Your heart felt so heavy with so much. You felt like you could burst from the amount of emotions that run through you every second. You were clinging to the sweater her mom brought you and you sniffed her scent every chance you could.

Nothing could bring her back and you knew this.

Nothing could bring back the dead.

The world could be at peace, and there was still so much hurt. So much pain would linger. The world could be rebuilt, but the pain would remain like a stain on everyone’s heart. You wondered how you and everyone else would get through this.

You wished you could take it all back…

The last moments with her keep replaying in your mind and you know you’ll never get to see that beautiful smile again. No, she won’t be there to comfort you ever again when you need her.

One night, things seemed very quiet. You were just trying to get some rest despite the fact that your body was aching. You had spent the good part of an hour just scrolling through your phone that somehow hadn’t been damaged in the car crash. The way things were going, it seemed like the world and Japan was trying to band together to get over this.

Still, you couldn’t help but go look at pictures of her. It was breaking your heart, but you needed to see her smile. The same smile that always pushed you to do your best. Even when you felt scared as a new and upcoming hero, she was there to guide you through it all even though she was just as scared as you.

Tears slid down your cheeks as you tried so hard to quiet your sobs. It had been a few days now that you were in the new room and you were sure that whoever your new roommate was would probably grow tired of your constant crying. Doesn’t matter what’s going on in the world, whoever was trying to heal next to your bed would find you annoying.

In reality, the person in the bed next to yours was sleeping most of the time. Tonight was the first time he heard your cries. It pained his heart more than he’d like to admit. He had been in so much pain, but so happy to know the outcome of the battle. He had worked so hard to make sure things would go the way he desperately hoped for.

And now with hearing you cry, his heart clenched in his chest. These were the tears of a lost someone. When he had been first admitted to the hospital, they had told him that he’d be in the same room as you. He barely knew you, but he had heard of the electrokinetic hero Haywire. He knew what had happened, and he did not think any less of you.

Finally, the curtain is pulled back from the bed and you gasp when you see the older man in his bed. You try to wipe away your tears, but it’s obvious you’ve been crying. He looks at you and gives you his best smile, even while in a sorry state himself.

“Don’t cry,” he says. “I am here.”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2024– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

finally, it's out! if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just comment or inbox or message me!

[iliketangerines]

Mk boys with a significant male other that’s like sokka from avatar the last air bender- that’s a complete brat and twink ((tehe))

listen and obey

a/n: i gotchu cuties, but i'm almost 80% sure this is the same person bc of the sokka comment and how similar the requests are. just a reminder to look at my rules for requesting.

pairing: dom!lord raiden x amab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), spanking, blowjobs, handjobs, slight degradation, slight dubcon

Raiden found you infuriating, and he was just about done with your attitude

you had been prancing around the training pit with your damn boomerang, hitting targets and distracting Liu Kang and Kung Lao from training

you were meant to be training as well, but when Raiden had told you to concentrate, you had just given a cocky smile, flung your boomerang around to decapitate a training dummy, and then told him you were training

Raiden can feel his patience wearing thin as he watches you make small talk with Kung Lao, who is practicing using his hat as a blade

when Kung Lao puts his hat back on his head and fully faces you to talk, you smile, knowing you’ve successfully distracted the Shaolin from training and can indulge in more interesting things, like raiding the kitchen

Raiden feels the last threadbares of his patience snap when you walk past him and shoot him a wink

the god grabs onto your waist, and a flash of lightning transports you to his bedroom

you go to complain, but your mouth wires shut at the sight of the angry god towering over you and slamming his hand into the wall behind you

he growls out that you need to be training, not distracting his other champions and fooling around with your damn boomerang, and that you need to be more disciplined

you smirk up at him, calming your beating heart, and tell him to make you

Raiden immediately grabs onto you, carrying you to the bed and throwing you over his lap

he pulls down your pants, exposing your ass, and you squirm in his lap, not quite expecting this when you had teased him

but all thoughts of rebellion fly out of your mind when he lands a harsh smack on your ass and continues to swat at the sensitive flesh

with every slap your cock grinds against his lap, and by the end of his punishment, you’re a sobbing horny mess

you clutch onto the sheets in front of you as you try to stifle your sniffles and cries, and Raiden asks if you’ve learned your lesson

you let out a soft whimper, nodding your head, but the god grabs onto your hair, pulling your head back

he stares into your eyes and demands you to use your words

you moan out a yes sir, and he seems to be satisfied with your answer because he lets go of your hair

your face falls back into the sheets of the bed, and he rubs a soothing hand over your red cheeks

you can’t help but whine, and Raiden spits on his hand before teasing the rim of your asshole

he just teases you like this, feeling your pre-cum leak onto his pants, and he waits until you’re wiggling in his lap to tell you to beg for it

you hesitate, but when he slides just the tip of his finger in and pulls it out, you let out a small please

he squeeze your ass, making you whimper at the stimulation, and tells you to speak up

you raise your head out of the sheets and ask him please sir, please fuck me with your fingers

Raiden hums in approval and slides in a thick finger, which has you keening into the sheets

he fucks you slowly on his finger, using his other hand to rub circles into the red flesh of your ass, and he slowly adds in another spit-lubed finger

you grind against his lap as he does this, but he lets it slide for today as he fingers you

he presses his fingers around, looking for that sweet spot, and when your hips buck backward to try and take his fingers deeper, he knows he’s found it

he abuses that spot, constantly pushing his fingers into your prostate, and soon you’re crying into the sheets for a different reason

you let out a needy whine, arching your back, and you cum on Raiden’s pants, staining them white and going limp on the sheets

Raiden moves you to your knees in front of him, cupping your blissed-out expression and cooing at the tears tracks on your cheeks

he tells you that you did such a good job for him, and now you need to repay him, his boner pressing against the slack of his pants

your hands come up and slowly untie Raiden’s pants, and you shuffle in a little closer when you’re able to pull his pants down

you stroke his cock, spreading the pre-cum all along the shaft, and place small kisses to the tip of his cock

Raiden grunts and tells you that he knows you can do better

you huff but take his tip into your mouth, tracing your tongue along the tip and slowly bobbing your head up and down

the god above you groans at the feeling of your warm mouth around his cock, and he has a loose hold in your hair

he degrades you, telling you that you were made to suck his cock like a good whore, just needed a good spanking to help discipline you

you moan around his cock as you try to take him deeper, and Raiden can see the way his cock bulges out in your throat

but, the god lets you go at your own pace, he’ll teach you how take his full cock later and fuck your face when he’s trained you

for now, you can only reach halfway and use your hand to pump the rest of his cock, trying hard to please your god and get him to cum in your mouth

Raiden groans as your tongue traces a vein on the underside of your cock, and he grips onto your hair to hold you still as he shoots cum down your throat

you try your best to swallow it all, but a few drops spill out from the corner of your mouth

Raiden pants and pulls his softening dick from your mouth and pats the side of your cheek, using his thumb to scoop up the droplets that escaped

he places his thumb into your mouth, and you eagerly suck on them, cleaning his fingers of his cum

once you’re done, he picks you up and lays you on the bed stomach-down and leaves

he comes back quickly with some lotion, water, and food

he rubs the lotion into your cheeks with his large calloused hands, and he has you carefully drink the water and food that he has

the next day, you have a considerably better attitude and actually train, but sometimes you wince when you make a move and shoot a glance up to Raiden

he crosses his arms and knows that if you misbehave again that he’ll be there to put you in your place

[toastedjeans]

Dungeon of Pizza characters part 2!

Part 1 -> here

AU Summary -> here

Continuing with Mr. Stick and Burton! Stick originally should have had a propeller hat, but i thought the mechanical wings made more sense for the setting. Also he's an inventor, so i thought he could have built these himself. His glasses and hat had to stay of course. Also, fun fact, i based Burton's clothes a bit on earth bender clothes in ATLA, but his silly tiny hat still had to stay cause i love it too much lol

Fake Peppino and Maurice are only next to each other cause they were the only ones who didn't really belong to anyone i guess? Anyway, for Faker i wanted to show off how he looks when shape shifting. He will always be a little paler and taller than the original, with way longer arms, and wonky eyes. He isn't as drippy as usual since here he isn't really a clone. Maurice is just there to fill the roster tbh. The mace is supposed to reference his sack of nickels, although he probably has that here as well. He doesn't use the mace tho, it's only for intimidation purposes. He mostly uses the knife on his belt.

Would you believe me if i told you this was my first time drawing both Gerome and John? Cause it was. For John i wanted him to get a big scar on his head after being freed from Pizzahead. Not sure if i want him to become blind on that eye where the scar is going through... Would probably be too dramatic. Not much to say about Gerome tbh but i like how he came out.

And finally, Pizzahead and Pizzaface. The color choice for PF was a bit hard to figure out, but all i knew was that i wanted him to be robotic. Obviously he doesn't look too robotic here cause he's got clothes on, but at least his hands were supposed to look metallic with wiring. Idk how much that comes across but honestly he looks fine to me. Does he have wings? Idk, probably. Or he just flies cause he can. I haven't figured that out yet. Oh and PH is here too. I don't have much to say about him. He has different gauntlets cause he's a special little boy idk

ANYWAY, that's all the characters! Some designs gave me a bit of trouble but all in all I'm satisfied with them!

[ambersock]

“You want to spend the rest of your life knowing Dean Winchester’s on your ass, ‘cause I don’t.”

Okay, I have to ask: how did Dean ever earn this reputation? Because it sure as hell wasn't from canon:

(citations and spoilers under the cut)

1x15 The Benders – Spews idle threats while sidelined by a 13-year-old girl. Sam frees himself and overpowers an armed bad guy.

2x10 Hunted – Gordon hunts Sam, Dean gets himself captured. Sam rescues Dean.

2x21-22 AHBL 1 & 2 – Jake kills Sam. Sam is the one who kills Jake.

3x03 Bad Day at Black Rock – Bella shoots Sam, Dean does nothing

3x07 Fresh Blood – Gordon hunts Sam again, Sam decapitates Gordon with razor wire

5x16 Dark Side of the Moon – Walt and Roy kill Sam. Dean throws away the Samulet and forgets about Walt and Roy

6x22 The Man Who Knew Too Much – Castiel breaks Sam’s Hell wall. Dean forgives him in 7x17.

10x2 Reichenbach – Cole tortures Sam, Dean later decides to become Cole’s bestie

11x11 Red Meat – Corbin attempts to kill Sam, Dean tries to kill himself. Sam kills Corbin.

12x01 Keep Calm and Carry On – Watts tortures Sam. Mary kills Watts.

12x02 Mamma Mia – Toni tortures Sam, Dean spends most of the episode in heartwarming getting-to-know-you sessions with Mary. Dean later allies with Toni.

Seriously, why would anyone be afraid of Dean? He's more likely to ally with someone who hurts Sam than he is to hunt them down.

Now let's look at Sam for comparison:

3x05 Bedtime Stories – Sam kills the crossroads demon that made Dean’s deal

3x11 Mystery Spot – Spends 6 months hunting down the trickster and stakes him for killing Dean

4x09 I Know What You Did Last Summer (flashback) – Sam kills another crossroads demon who refuses to let Sam switch places with Dean

10x1 Black – Tortures a demon for Dean’s location

10x17 Inside Man – Shoots Metatron in the leg for information about saving Dean from the Mark

10x22 The Prisoner - Almost kills Crowley for getting Dean to take the MoC

Clearly Sam is the one you should be afraid of if you mess with his brother.