#// bottle episode thread

[monogatcri]

━━ ˟ ⊰🍁❝ MAY WE CONSIDER OURSELVES FORTUNATE the shelter we have stands strong against the coming storms. ❞

[invested-in-your-future]

What's fascinating to me is that for a show where showrunners knew they had only one season left to wrap everything up, Arcane S2 feels filled with weird decisions.

EP7 as appreciated as it was, feels like a weird bottle episode that doesn't do much of anything for the overall story. It's the type of episode I could see in a longer show where it wasn't its final season, but here? Weird.

What does the detour with Vander and bringing him back add to the story exactly? It wasn't used to give Vi development or drama, nor was it used for Jinx. Sure, you could say it was something done to quickly resolve the sisters' feud, but that was already in the works naturally, and there was no need for an entire subplot that dumps a TON of new worldbuilding upon the show that has barely any time left to handle the worldbuilding it already got.

You'd think the final season would have key characters, like Vi, play the pivotal role and develop and grow, but Vi is sidelined for most of the show, despite her characterization being crucial in landing the conclusion of the two sisters subplot.

Caitlyn's classist dictator time feels like literal padding too—there's no follow-up or subplot where Vi has to make her see the reality of her actions or any subplot or characterization where the two reconcile. This subplot would make sense in a show where the class conflict and the possible civil war were front-and-center plot threads, but Arcane S2 is not that show—it refuses to touch upon the core themes Season One established. In fact, the show ends up completely ignoring what she did, so why is the plotline there then?

There are just a lot of additions that do the opposite of resolving plot threads or giving the time needed for the conclusion—everything to do with Noxous, the nigh incomprehensible Black Rose stuff, all the new side characters that appear and then disappear having done nothing, etc. You'd think for THE finale of their story, the writers would condense and connect the plot threads together toward the conclusion, but S2 spends a lot of time doing the opposite for no reason.

The final stretch has Silco basically speaking to the audience, telling them nothing new and just rehashing what's already been shown. What was the point of that? Is it insecurity from the writers that the audience might not have gotten what was being said? And what's more, how does that connect to the whole "main story" of S2 which is the machine god stuff? The monologue, as anvilicious and needless as it is, makes sense in a show about the cycle of violence and human nature, but Arcane Season Two is not that show—it's a show about how The Rich and The Poor will team-up for the common purpose of facing outside enemies, be it the non-descript Evil Country From Afar or Magical Zombies. So why were the writing staff so desperate to get the point "Silco" makes across as to literally break even the basic sense of show-not-tell?

The more I think, the weirder the structure of S2 is.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

pairing: wanda maximoff x scarlet witch

summary: wanda meets herself while opening a portal for another bottle of wine, decides "fuck it" and has sex with her other multiversal self

content warnings: wanda fucking herself, and then being fucked... by herself. cunnilingus, fingering, restraints, nipple clamps, vibrator, strap-on sex, mirror sex, subtle choking, begging, overstimulation

word count: 10.6k+

this was requested by a lovely anon!

masterlist

Seeing Double

The walls flicker, the flashing scenes on the television spreading across the room, creating a harsh shadow on the figure seated on the couch. The sounds of nonsensical chattering from the characters on screen fill the silent room, a theme song ringing out as another episode starts playing. 

Long fingers reach for the empty glass sitting on the coffee table, grazing the cup before reaching past it and grabbing the wine bottle directly. A few swallows later and Wanda finishes the entire bottle, staring down at it as she processes. The last remnants of the slightly sugary wine slide down her throat, warming her belly as she unfurls her magic throughout the house. 

Green eyes turn scarlet as wisps of magic search the different cabinets of the small kitchen. They wrap around each shelf, and Wanda lets a small frown onto her face when she realizes that she’d gone through her last bottle of wine. She calls her magic back, admiring the way it twists around her fingers as she sinks further into the couch. 

Picking at a loose thread on her sweater, she realizes that she’s wearing her old Avengers crewneck. Wanda lets the wine bottle slip from her fingers as she remembers the day she received it. Natasha had been the one to give it to her, presenting it all nice and folded and giving her a rare smile. She’d finally understood what it meant to have a team, to have a family, and Wanda blinks when realizes that she’s smiling slightly as she reminisces. 

Shaking those melancholic thoughts away, Wanda feels the wine she’d consumed spread throughout her body, warming her up to the very tips of her fingers. It was rather unfortunate that she’d finished that wine, it was one-of-a-kind. Thor himself had brought it to her, after Vision had died, saying something about celebrating life as she’d taken the bottle with trembling hands. She’d stashed it deep in her cellar, behind some random boxes, but had recently found it and decided, why not?

In her tipsy state, Wanda let her magic roam freely, taking a deep breath as the restricting feeling of reigning in her magic disappeared. She sends out a mental apology to Stephen, knowing that she was breaking his strict rules about her magic use. 

Honestly, you try to take power from one teenage girl, and all of a sudden you’re a villain?

Wanda scoffs to herself, absentmindedly opening a portal in search of some more wine. Preferably something strong enough to send her to bed early, as the night was still young and her thoughts too raw to handle. She searches for a few moments, before a tug at her magic causes her to halt. 

Pausing, Wanda forces herself to focus as she feels yet another tug at her magic. It felt almost… familiar? Her brows furrow, her back straightening as she sits up on the couch, watching the portal spark in front of her. 

It seemed to be leading into a kitchen of some sorts, one that looked well decorated, similar to her own, yet significantly larger. Wanda tilts her head, feeling that same strong sensation pull at her magic, something soft yet commanding. She narrows her eyes, finally pinpointing the strand of her magic that was connected to the familiar pull, and tugs. 

Something in the portal shifted, and Wanda tenses in anticipation, her heart thudding as her gaze sharpens. A figure moves closer, and Wanda’s eyes meet a very familiar pair of green eyes as a woman walks through the portal. With an absentminded flick of her fingers, the strange woman closes the portal, and Wanda feels yet another tug at her magic. 

“Who…?” The words die in Wanda’s throat as the woman turns to face her head-on. 

No fucking way. 

Wanda feels as though she is trapped in a trance, her eyes raking over the other woman standing in her living room. It was like looking into a mirror, except this version of her had brown hair, and not quite as many wrinkles around her eyes. She is wearing a similar crewneck, hers a faded green color, instead of the red one currently hugging Wanda’s frame. 

The only thought running through Wanda’s slightly-tipsy, definitely-not-thinking-clearly brain was that the other woman looked rather hot. One might even say, stunning. She couldn’t help staring at the woman’s chest, having seen that chest in the mirror a thousand times. Except, it was different somehow, seeing her chest on another person. 

Fuck, was she attracted to this?

“Hi,” The smooth voice startles Wanda out of whatever trance she’s lost herself in, and she hurriedly moves her eyes away from the other woman’s chest, meeting sparkling green eyes. The shade was familiar, and Wanda couldn't help but match the soft smile the other woman wore. 

Those green eyes slowly trace a path down Wanda’s body, leaving trails of fire that ricochet under her skin. She squirms, feeling slightly hot all of a sudden, unused to someone's attention being solely focused on her. 

“I apologize,” The woman starts, holding up her hand. In it, is a bottle of wine, and Wanda feels her eyes light up as she subconsciously uses her magic to bring another glass over. “You must be wondering who I am.”

Wanda snorts, feeling her limbs loosen as she slides the glasses over towards her counterpart. “I think I have a pretty good idea who you are.”

Pointedly looking the other woman up and down, Wanda matches the smirk on the brunette’s face, before blinking at the absurdity of her own face staring back at her. She watches her grab the glasses, her long fingers wrapping around the stem as a wisp of scarlet magic pops the cork off of the wine she’d brought. 

“Well,” The woman begins, pouring two glasses. The wine is dark, and Wanda couldn’t wait to have a taste, her tongue quickly swiping over her bottom lip. “My name is Wanda, but you knew that already.” 

She pauses, taking a step closer to Wanda, who fidgets slightly on the couch. Handing her one of the now-filled glasses of wine, the brunette feels her counterpart's soft fingers graze her own as she accepts the glass. A spark runs down both their arms, and they both raise their eyebrows at the same time, the movement mirrored exactly on the other’s face in a slightly eerie fashion. 

“I heard your call, although it rather felt like a strong tug on my magic.” The other Wanda begins, sitting down next to Wanda. She tries not to think about how their legs brush, the heat of the other woman’s thigh sending a different kind of heat racing towards her core. 

The other woman shifts again, and Wanda belatedly realizes that her eyes are locked on the same lips as her own. She’d never noticed just how kissable they seemed, it seemed that this night was full of self discovery and pleasant surprises. 

At the sound of a throat clearing, Wanda snaps out of her daze, her eyes locking with a matching pair of green ones. A familiar looking smirk plays on her counterpart's lips, and Wanda blinks rapidly as she distracts herself by sipping from her glass. 

The wine tastes smooth, rich but not too heavy. Wanda feels her eyebrows steadily rising as she savored the taste of her first sip. She pointedly avoids eye contact with the other woman, feeling slightly intimidated by this other version of herself. She seems a lot more confident in herself, all grace and power with each movement, and Wanda tries not to think about the old crewneck she was wearing, or the comfortable joggers she wears that brush gently against the other woman’s expensive looking slacks. 

“Good?” The voice is low, and Wanda can hear traces of her own Sokovian accent as the woman speaks.

Strengthening her resolve, Wanda raises her eyes, feeling as though she was having a slightly out-of-body experience as she meets those eyes. The same ones that look back at her when she dared look in a mirror, green and tired. So very tired, but still sparkling. She wonders what the other version of herself had been through. 

“Yes, thank you.” Wanda falters then, not quite knowing what to say. Her counterpart also looks at quite a loss for words, but stretches out slightly on the couch, her posture relaxed. Her arm reaches out, her fingers tentatively splaying on Wanda’s forearm as her eyes search the other’s for permission. 

Wanda licks her lips, tasting the remnants of her last sip of wine, before taking a bigger gulp and leaning fully towards the other woman. She smiles, but just with her eyes, her lips parted slightly as she felt her heart race. Fuck, she was actually really attractive. She wonders if her counterpart was different from herself, or if she just didn’t see her own body the way she was seeing it now. 

Shaking her head, Wanda brushes the confusion aside, wanting to focus solely on her counterpart. The other woman rests her own glass on her thigh, her hand firmer against Wanda’s forearm as her fingers trace nonsensical patterns into the soft fabric. Her eyes seem slightly unfocused, an adorable crinkle between her eyebrows as she slides her gaze over Wanda’s form. 

“So,” Wanda begins, feeling her nerves start to dissipate at the soft glow in her counterpart’s eyes. She leans in, putting her own hand against the other woman’s shoulder, feeling grounded slightly at her other self’s solid form beneath her fingertips. “Tell me all about your timeline, and I’ll share about mine?”

They share a smile, and Wanda relaxes fully as her counterpart begins speaking. She enjoys the sound of her voice, similar to her own but lower, with a slightly raspy undertone. She resolves to practice that voice later, when nobody can hear her. For now, she’s content to listen and learn about the other Wanda’s timeline. 

—

‘Holy shit, I’m actually really cool.’ 

Wanda’s glass is empty, her other self’s glass having been discarded to the floor a long time ago. They’re seated so close to each other that an outsider would have called it cuddling, their hands wandering over each other absentmindedly as they speak. It was nice, having someone touch her, even if it was just gentle fingers tracing every inch of her as eyes filled with wonder take her in. 

A hand makes its way around her waist, tracing the gentle curve there as Wanda watches those green eyes linger around the waistband of her joggers. A few fingers slip softly under the slight crop of her crewneck, warm against her skin, and Wanda feels herself flush under the sudden intense focus.

Suddenly needing a distraction, Wanda clears her throat, feeling as though a spotlight was thrust upon her when the other woman’s dark green eyes snap towards hers. “So, I don’t really know what to call you…”

Trailing off, Wanda watches her counterpart tilt her head, a look of confusion in her eyes. 

“Just call me my name.” The woman says, and holy fuck that demanding tone did something to Wanda. Her gaze is stifling, her eyes hot as she watches Wanda open her mouth a few times, her fingers absentmindedly tracing small circles against the soft skin of her waist. 

“But… I’m Wanda.” She knows her voice has a slight whine to it, but Wanda can’t bring herself to care. Her brain is starting to hurt, the lines blurring slightly in her mind as she attempts to categorize herself and the other version of herself that stepped through her portal. 

Firm fingers stroke her cheek, resting on her temple as Wanda’s brain halts at the touch. The other woman watches her, feeling Wanda’s breaths slow down as her green eyes start to look less panicked. “You can call me…” She thinks for a moment, her eyes unfocusing as she looks somewhere over Wanda’s left shoulder. 

“Scarlet?” Wanda’s voice is soft, a single eyebrow raised as she waits for a response. 

“Because I’m the truest version of the Scarlet Witch?” The other woman’s tone is dry, her eyebrows raised in an unimpressed manner as she watches Wanda’s expression mirror her own. “How original.” 

Gently shoving at the hand still pressed against her cheek, Wanda lets a small smile onto her lips as she looks around for her glass of wine. Scarlet stretches, her hand still wrapped around Wanda’s waist, her fingers twitching as she lets out a large sigh. Wanda tries to ignore the slight blush she knows is creeping up onto her face, and picks up the now-empty bottle of wine. 

Raising the bottle up so Scarlet can see, she lets it dangle loosely from her fingers before she drops it back onto the floor. Green eyes find hers, and Wanda decides that she will not lose whatever game they’re playing. This is her own fucking universe, she will not be bested at mere flirting. 

Reaching a hand out as casually as she can, Wanda tucks some of the silky, reddish-brown hair behind Scarlet’s ear, smirking when she sees the slight flush in the tips of her ears. Pietro had always made fun of her for that, telling her that her blush always started in her ears. It was nice to see that didn’t change even in other universes.

They sit in the moment for a beat, before Scarlet’s eyes light up, and Wanda can’t remember the last time she saw such an excited expression on her own face. It was refreshing to see. The woman turns to her, her fingers wrapping around Wanda’s wrists in excitement as she pulls her into a standing position. 

“Let’s go out. It’s a big city right? There must be something we can do for fun.” Her voice is still deep, her tone raspier than ever as her accent bleeds through, and Wanda doesn’t think she’s ever heard a lovelier sound. 

“I don’t have many outfits for a night out,” Wanda’s tone is regretful, as images of dancing in some dark club flash through her mind. She finds herself wishing that she could spend more time with… herself? What an interesting thought. 

A chuckle sounds out, and Wanda huffs slightly as Scarlet grips her forearms for support as she laughs. She shifts her weight, leaning on one hip as she raises a single eyebrow, waiting for the other woman to cease her laughter. 

“Darling,” Wanda flushes at the nickname. “We’re the Scarlet Witch, we have magic.”

The dots connect, and Wanda lets an upside-down grin onto her face as she shakes her head. Of course, how could she have forgotten? Magic was what got her into this situation in the first place, not that she was complaining. Scarlet’s green eyes meet hers, sparkling with laughter, and Wanda rolls her eyes slightly as she twists her fingers. 

Scarlet tendrils erupt around them as Wanda changes their outfits, Scarlet closing her eyes at the feel of familiar magic brushing her skin. She opens them after the tendrils dissipate, looking down at herself briefly before taking in Wanda. Her eyes widen fractionally, and she feels her next breath shake slightly as she takes in the short hemline of the dress Wanda wore. 

Looking down, she realizes that she is dressed in a similar fashion, except her dress is longer, with a slit running up one of the sides. Wanda’s eyes are hot and locked on that small strip of skin, following the slit as high as it would go before she seems to shake herself out of a daze. 

Smirking, Wanda finds her own expression mirrored on Scarlet’s face. She doesn’t think she will ever get used to that. Reaching out a hand, she lets herself enjoy the feeling of Scarlet’s waist as she pulls her close, not minding when the woman’s hand rests dangerously low on her back. She leans in, a teasing smile on her lips as red tendrils erupt around them, creating a portal. 

“How do you feel about clubbing?”

—

Wanda can’t remember the last time she had gone out drinking, let alone clubbing. It was probably back before her Avenger days, when Pietro would sneak them into a dingy club and steal some alcohol before twirling her around and making her forget about their lives, even if just for a moment. The security in Sakovian nightclubs was minimal, and Wanda smiles fondly at the memory as she and Scarlet step into the crowded room. 

Bodies swarm around them, hands flying through the air as the music swirled around the mass of people. Different colored lights flash, the air thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat soaked skin. Wanda feels happier than she has in the past year, and her eyes sparkle as she pulls Scarlet close and makes her way towards the bar. 

“What’s your favorite drink?” The words are yelled into Scarlet’s ear, and the woman just stares in confusion, her head tilting slightly. Wanda rolls her eyes, realizing that the woman probably can’t hear her over the thumping beat and blaring music. 

Pulling Scarlet in by the waist, Wanda smirks at the way those green eyes flick down to her lips before she moves those lips directly next to the woman’s ear. “I asked, what’s your favorite drink?” 

Wanda doesn’t have to yell as loud this time, and she feels Scarlet’s lips graze her neck slightly before she gets a response. She shudders, almost missing the drink order, and judging by the way Scarlet was smirking at her, the woman had definitely felt her reaction. 

Pulling away, Wanda subtly uses her magic to keep the swarms of people away from them as she orders two drinks. The bartender looks slightly confused, glancing between them briefly before he seems to shrug, making their drinks in record time as he nods towards another drunk man screaming his order. 

Scarlet pulls incessantly at Wanda’s waist, her fingers firm as she leads them away from the over-crowded bar. Wanda tries not to think too hard about the pleasurable heat spreading from that point of contact, but can’t help the way her body presses slightly against Scarlet’s as they lean against a wall. 

A glass of some red colored drink is raised to Scarlet’s lips, and Wanda lets her eyes rest on them as they greedily swallow the contents. She feels almost as if she were in a trace, Scarlet’s hand dancing along the hem of her dress as her tongue slowly runs over her bottom lip. She seems to savor the taste, and Wanda slowly raises her own glass, a spike of pride racing through her when Scarlet’s green eyes lock on the way the rim of her cup rests against her lips. 

Taking a sip, Wanda’s eyes shoot up in surprise at the sweet cherry flavor. She licks her lips, smiling slightly as she feels Scarlet’s breath hitch, her chest rising rapidly as her eyes flick upwards. Wanda steps in closer, feeling Scarlet’s hand wrap firmly around her waist, pressing their bodies together. She leisurely finishes the rest of her drink, before gently pressing her thigh against Scarlet’s pelvis and feeling herself throb at the woman’s low moan. 

“Time to dance.” Wanda murmurs, and she feels Scarlet’s fingers flex slightly as she attempts to keep their bodies pressed together. Feeling a spike of pleasure run through her at the way the other woman’s hips roll slightly against her leg, Wanda reluctantly tears herself away. She slips a soft hand into Scarlet’s slightly callused one, and pulls her towards the center of the club. 

Setting their empty glasses down, Wanda turns to face Scarlet, the woman already pulling her close again. The hands around her waist feel hot, and Wanda has to hold in a whimper when those long fingers splay out across her lower back, pressing their bodies together once again. 

“Turn around for me.” The words are low, and Wanda blames the red-hot flush to her cheeks on the alcohol she’d just gulped down. Scarlet’s eyes are intense, the green almost viridescent as her pupils dilate slightly. 

Nodding slightly, Wanda bites her lower lip nervously, smiling when Scarlet's eyes drop to it. She turns around, her hands coming to rest on top of the ones around her waist. She feels Scarlet’s pelvis press against her, and she experimentally rolls her own hips backwards, reveling in the low groan the other woman lets out. She feels small puffs of air against her neck, and uses one of her hands to move her hair out of the way, tilting her head slightly to give the other woman access. 

At the feeling of Scarlet’s soft lips against the sensitive skin of her neck, Wanda’s breath hitches. The soft kisses quickly morph into wet, hot hickeys that turn her pale skin red. Wanda dances to the music, feeling the alcohol take over her mind as she’s thrust into a fuzzy headspace. Her movements feel fluid, and she feels like she can finally breathe properly, sucking in the humid air of the club, the scent of alcohol mixing with a very familiar vanilla perfume. 

Letting one of her hands wander upwards, Wanda buries it in the soft hair of the woman behind her, tugging slightly as she tilts her face towards her. She feels her lips detach, the warm air of the club hitting her dampened skin as she turns towards Scarlet. 

Pressing her lips against the other woman’s feels like coming home. They feel impossibly soft and urgent against her own as they sway to the beat and press their scantily clad bodies together. Wanda feels her dress riding up slightly, Scarlet’s hand insistent against the bare skin of her upper thigh. She lets her own hand drift from the woman’s hair downwards, resting it against her throat as she silently asks for permission. 

Scarlet pulls away, her eyes dark as she slowly moves them towards the backrooms of the club. Upon reaching the doorway, she pushes through, pressing Wanda’s body against the wall of a dimly lit hallway as the door shuts solidly behind them. It was quieter here, more intimate somehow as the thumping music dampened behind the solid wood of the door. 

Two pairs of green eyes stare at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Wanda flexes her hand slightly, pressing softly against Scarlet’s throat, and smiles when she feels the woman’s breath hitch beneath her hand. 

She squeezes. Scarlet moans, and Wanda feels something almost animalistic take over her. 

Pulling the woman closer by her throat, Wanda crashes their lips together, feeling the desperate fingers against her waist squeezing tightly. Scarlet’s entire body is flush against hers, and their chests rise and fall in sync as they fight for dominance. Wanda’s other hand is pinned to the wall, her other squeezing tightly on the sides of Scarlet’s neck as the woman gasps into her mouth. Scarlet manages to maneuver her thigh between Wanda’s legs, and upon feeling the sturdy muscles against her aching core, Wanda moans freely into the other woman’s mouth. 

The sound of Wanda’s breathy moan snaps something inside Scarlet, and she pulls away to look directly into the other woman’s eyes. Her pupils are blown, the faintest bits of green around them as Wanda stares back with wide eyes and swollen lips. 

“Portal us back.” Scarlet manages to get out, grinding her hips slightly against Wanda’s pelvis, needing to feel some sort of relief. “I want you.”

Wanda smirks at the desperate note in the other woman’s voice. Who knew that hearing your own voice pleading and whining was so attractive? Scarlet lets out a choked noise from the back of her throat, her hips jerking as Wanda’s hand squeezes tightly in warning. 

“You want me?” Wanda makes her voice low, letting her accent wrap around the words as Scarlet’s eyes close briefly. “Are you sure it’s just that?” 

Tilting her head, Wanda waits for a response. The other woman seems to be grounding herself, her hips slowing as she trails her hands up Wanda’s body, resting them just beneath her breasts as she opens her eyes. 

“I need you.” She practically purrs, her voice raspy and her eyes narrowed. Wanda blinks, the words sending her further into the haze taking over her brain. She feels Scarlet’s fingers ghost the underside of her breasts, the barest sensation sending bolts of pleasure shooting towards her throbbing clit. Her whole body feels like it's on fire, and she nods quickly as Scarlet sends her a familiar smirk. 

“My place.” Scarlet’s words are demanding, and Wanda starts to nod before her eyebrows thread together in confusion. 

Upon seeing Wanda’s expression, Scarlet clarifies, “If I’m going to fuck you, darling, I’m going to do it right.” She leaned in, letting her tongue softly trail up Wanda’s neck as the woman shudders beneath her. “You can’t even begin to imagine the special types of toys I own.” 

“Stephen will be upset,” Wanda protests, and Scarlet rolls her eyes as she remembers the pitiful restrictions put on her. 

“Fine.” Scarlet reluctantly removes her hands from Wanda’s soft body, licking her lips before twisting her fingers and opening a portal in the narrow hallway. Green eyes peer around excitedly as Scarlet pulls her through the scarlet tendrils opening the multiverse. 

Wanda feels the incessant squeezing of Scarlet’s fingers against her waist, her eyes glued to the strip of skin where her dress is riding up her thighs. She lets her own gaze wander down to the faint bruises around Scarlet’s neck, her lips turning up as she spots the bed behind her. 

Pushing backwards, Wanda presses her body fully against the other woman’s warm figure. Her eyes take in the dark bedroom, her fingers grasping the woman’s shoulders tightly. Pushing gently, she smiles at Scarlet's gasp when the back of her knees hit the bed, and pushes her into a seated position.

“You seem really desperate, I can smell your arousal.” The words make their way into Scarlet’s brain, the desperate aching of her core clouding her senses as she feels Wanda’s presence overtake her. She grips the dark comforter below her, her knuckles whitening almost instantly, spreading her legs slightly as her hips roll eagerly. 

“Let me help with that.” Wanda whispers, before slowly dragging her tongue down Scarlet’s neck and kneeling before her. Her hands wander from the woman’s breasts and over her taut stomach, nails scratching slightly over the muscles she knows are hidden beneath her dress. 

Twisting her fingers, Wanda watches with wide eyes as the conjured dress disappears. Her gaze roams over Scarlet's body, a voice in the back of her mind telling her that this is also her body. Fuck, Scarlet was attractive. Was she also this hot?

“You’re beautiful.” The words are soft, and Wanda looks up quickly, her eyes shining in the low lighting of the room. Scarlet has a knowing smile on her face, and she twists her fingers slightly as she reminds Wanda that they share the same magic. The same mind reading powers, too. 

“Oh, I…” Wanda doesn’t quite know what to say, and Scarlet seems to understand. She reaches out, her fingers ghosting over Wanda’s cheek as she moves her hand into the woman’s scarlet hair. 

“You look so pretty on your knees for me.” Scarlet’s words flow between them, and Wanda licks her lips as she lets her eyes drop back to the rapidly forming damp spot in the woman’s underwear. She feels her face burning, certain that a blush is spreading across her cheeks at the praise. 

Choosing to forgo words altogether, Wanda allows her head to be pulled closer to Scarlet’s core, the smell of her dripping arousal hitting her nose and filling her senses. She tentatively flattens her tongue, licking a long stripe over the woman’s soaked underwear. 

Fuck. 

Wanda doesn’t think she’s ever tasted anything as sweet as Scarlet before. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard such pretty sounds, breathy moans leaving those sinful lips and shooting straight to her core.

“God, you’re so needy.” Wanda murmurs, her lips teasing against the woman’s underwear. She has her hands pressed tightly against Scarlet’s hips, attempting to still them as she places feather light kisses against the damp fabric. 

A broken whine leaves Scarlet's throat, and Wanda feels her own arousal dampen her already-soaked underwear. The long fingers in her hair tighten, and Wanda has to stop a moan from leaving her lips. Scarlet’s next words are whined and desperate. “Please, stop teasing.” 

The sound of Scarlet’s soft voice sends white hot pleasure racing through Wanda’s body. And really, who is she to deny herself? 

Twisting her fingers, scarlet wisps appear and dissolve the thin fabric barrier between Wanda’s lips and Scarlet's glistening pussy. At the first stroke of her tongue, Wanda is hooked. She moves her arms under the woman’s trembling thighs, swapping her tongue through the slick arousal and savoring the taste. At the feeling of Scarlet’s clit throbbing beneath her tongue, Wanda flicks it experimentally. Scarlet’s hand tightens painfully in her hair, her hips grinding against her face. 

Wanda moans, the vibrations sending acute pleasure through Scarlet’s aching clit. She tries to stop her hips from moving too much, but can’t help the way they move as Wanda begins licking and sucking with earnestness. 

The vigor in which Wanda eats her out nearly sends Scarlet over the edge. Almost as if Wanda can sense this, she pulls away briefly while Scarlet’s hips stutter against her tongue. “Grind harder against my face, it's okay. I want you to.”

Scarlet looks down at her, having thrown her head back at some point. Wanda’s glassy eyes are staring back up at her, wide and dark as her tongue teasingly swipes through her folds. She creates a suction with her lips, wrapping them around her clit as her tongue flicks quickly against it. She jerks her hips, whimpering as she holds herself back from grinding all over Wanda’s pretty face, and the redhead pulls away once more. 

“Do whatever you want to make yourself come, I can take it.” Wanda’s words are firm, her eyes honest. Scarlet nods, her breath feeling ragged as a moan rips through her throat when Wanda’s hot mouth resumes its ministrations. She feels the wet muscle of her tongue flicking quickly against her clit, her lips creating a delicious suction that sends her hurtling towards an orgasm. 

Using both hands to grip Wanda’s hair, Scarlet pulls her face flush against her core, grinding her hips against her chin as her back hits the bed. She can feel her thighs closing, the pressure building as her legs lock around Wanda’s head. The vibrations from Wanda’s moans only add fuel to the fire of her rising arousal, and Scarlet finally falls over the long-awaited edge. 

When she comes, it's almost violent. Her thighs squeeze tightly around Wanda’s head, her fingers seizing painfully as they tangle with locks of red hair. Her hips jerk and stutter, waves of arousal coating the smooth skin of Wanda’s face as she releases the overstimulating suction of her lips. Scarlet’s chest rises and falls rapidly, her muscles turning to goo as she relaxes against the mattress, a slow smile spreading on her face. 

“That good, huh?” A smug voice sounds, and Scarlet can barely hear it over the pleasant ringing in her ears. She feels strong hands spread her thighs apart, a gentle tongue licking her clean while avoiding her still-sensitive clit. She thinks she could cry from the softness of it all, and finally regains her senses when Wanda begins stroking her face with featherlight fingers. 

“Yes,” Scarlet begins, grabbing one of Wanda’s hands and kissing it softly, maintaining eye contact with the other woman as her eyebrows raise in surprise. “You are very good, Wanda.”

Green eyes soften slightly, and Scarlet sits up, feeling her strength return as she takes in the state of the woman standing before her. The bottom half of Wanda’s face is absolutely coated with her juices, the slick arousal shining as she takes the back of her hand and swipes it away. Her lips are swollen, and Scarlet has the strongest urge to kiss them. 

So, she does. 

Pulling Wanda in, she sucks her bottom lips between her teeth, reveling in the surprised gasp that the redhead lets out. Twisting her fingers, Scarlet removes the rest of Wanda’s clothing, feeling goosebumps erupt on her soft skin as she traces a hand down her spine. 

“Kneel on the bed for me, alright?” Scarlet whispers, pulling away and placing a firm hand against Wanda’s sternum when she tries to chase her lips. She waits until Wanda has positioned herself in the center of the bed, resting on her knees. She gives her a quick peck on the lips as a reward, grabbing her wrists and holding them against her thighs with a silent command to keep them there. 

Standing, Scarlet takes in the steady rise and fall of Wanda’s perfect chest, feeling quite conceited as she does so. After all, it was practically the same chest as hers. But, semantics. With a smirk, Scarlet makes her way towards the walk-in closet, her voice teasing as she throws a few words over her shoulder, “It’s my turn to make you feel good.”

Knowing that Wanda wouldn’t move an inch, Scarlet takes her time in gathering the few items she needs. By the time she walks back into the bedroom, she knows that Wanda is practically dripping with need, the anticipation driving her practically insane. 

“We’re the same, you know.” Scarlet begins, purposefully lowering her voice and letting her accent bleed through. She loves the way Wanda shudders whenever she speaks, the slight power she holds over the redhead shooting straight to her core. 

Scarlet lays the items out on the bed in front of Wanda, relishing in the way her eyes widen as they roam over the few toys she’d selected. She chooses to ignore the toys, for now. Instead, she makes her way behind Wanda’s kneeling form, grazing her fingers across the tops of her thighs and over her arms, resting them on her lower back before trailing them up her spine. 

Grabbing her hair gently, Scarlet maneuvers Wanda’s head to the side, tilting it slightly as she lets her lips graze where her neck meets her collarbone. “We both have this specific spot on our neck that drives us crazy.” 

Wanda lets out a low noise, leaning back as Scarlet shuffles closer until her front is flush against the other woman’s back. She grazes her teeth gently against the very spot she’d been talking about, and feels her own arousal rise again at the soft sounds Wanda is making. She places her lips against the spot, leaving hot, openmouthed kisses against it as Wanda squirms. 

Fingers twitch against her thighs, and Scarlet has to commend the redhead for staying still. She knows just how desperate she gets whenever someone teases that spot on her neck, and decides to reward Wanda. 

Sinking her teeth in, Scarlet smiles at the drawn out moan that escapes those swollen lips, Wanda’s head dropping back against her shoulder as she sucks a dark hickey into her neck. Once she’s sure that the redhead is properly distracted, she lets her hands slowly make their way from her waist to her breasts. 

Detaching her lips, and chuckling at the high whine that Wanda lets out, Scarlet moves her fingers until they gently graze the woman’s hardened nipples. Wanda’s body jolts, and her eyes close when Scarlet’s mouth returns to her ear. “And most importantly, our nipples are sensative as fuck.”

Wanda moans freely at that, the sounds becoming more high pitched and breathy when Scarlet’s nimble fingers begin twisting and pinching her nipples. Her body presses further against the woman behind her, leaning against her for support as her hips rut helplessly into the air. 

“So desperate for me,” Scarlet’s voice is in her ear again, and Wanda thinks she might come just from the sound of it. Then, she feels those soft lips and talented tongue stimulate that spot on her neck, and she practically melts against the woman behind her. 

Rolling her hips, Wanda presses herself against the woman behind her, wanting… no, needing Scarlet to stimulate her soon. The growing pressure was quickly becoming unbearable, and the added sensations from those talented fingers against her breasts was causing her to pant and moan in a very undignified manner. 

“Please,” Wanda begins, before quickly closing her mouth at Scarlet's low chuckle against her neck. 

“Begging already?” Her hands disappear from her breasts, one moving down towards her thighs while the other trails up towards her neck. “How pathetic, I haven’t even properly touched you yet.” 

A firm hand wraps around Wanda’s throat, and her eyes roll backwards. She’s truly never felt this many sensations before, and she’s definitely never begged for anything. Of course it would only be a version of herself that manages to reduce her to a submissive puddle of need.

Scarlet wisps emerge from the hand near her thighs, and Wanda watches as they float teasingly towards one of the objects spread before her on the bed. She bites back a whimper at the chosen object, hearing the delicate metal chain clink softly as it's dropped into Scarlet’s waiting hand. 

“I can tell by your reaction that you’ve experienced the wonderful pleasure that nipple clamps have to offer.” Scarlet’s voice holds a teasing tone, and Wanda presses her lips together and nods. 

“Really… with who?” The question hangs in the air, and Wanda swallows the thick embarrassment in her throat as she tries to form some words. The woman behind her lets out a soft sigh, before taking mercy on the flustered redhead. 

“For me, it was Natasha that introduced me to the kinkier side of sex.” Scarlet sounds almost wistful, and Wanda twists her head in surprise. 

“Natasha?” 

Gentle fingers grip Wanda’s chin, moving her head back to its original position. She catches a glimpse of Scarlet’s smirking lips, and jumps slightly when the woman teasingly drags the cold metal of the nipple clamps across each breast. 

“Yes, darling. Natasha.” Wanda can hear the teasing tone in Scarlet’s voice, and attempts to twist her head to the side to ask for more information. The fingers against her jaw tighten, the blunt fingernails digging into her skin as Scarlet holds her head in place. 

“If you’re good, maybe I’ll tell you the stories later.” 

“Stories? As in plural?” Wanda knows that there's a hint of hysteria in her voice, and Scarlet wraps her hand around her throat, soothing her instantly. She can feel the woman smiling against her ear and tries not to move when her hand tightens. 

“Don’t think too hard about it, you’ll hurt that pretty little head of yours.” The words send Wanda spiraling straight into a vanilla-scented haze, and she nods dumbly in response. She lets herself get wrapped up in the comforting touches of Scarlet's hand and the soft kisses being placed against her neck as the hand wrapped around her throat moves down and begins attaching the nipple clamps. 

Wanda’s body feels like it’s on fire, the nipple clamps shooting white-hot bolts of pleasure straight to her throbbing clit as Scarlet tightens them. Her moans reverberate around the room, her hips twitching aimlessly as she searches for a source of friction. Anything to ease the pressure at her core. 

“You never answered my question.” The words reach Wanda’s ears, and she thinks she might cry. Her brain is not working the best right now, and it's absolutely cruel of Scarlet to ask her questions while she’s in this state.

“Um, I…” Wanda can’t quite seem to wrap her head around the previous question, her mind blank as she searches for an answer.

“Did you forget already? That’s alright, maybe this will help you remember.” Scarlet murmurs in her ear, before grabbing the delicate chain swinging between Wanda’s breasts that connected to the nipple clamps. Tugging, she relishes in the broken moans leaving those sinfully plump lips, her eyes locked on Wanda’s painfully hard nipples as they stretch slightly under the force of the chain. 

“It was, fuck… Agatha.” Wanda manages, and Scarlet pauses. Taking in small breaths, so she doesn’t stretch her nipples further than pleasantly painful, Wanda tilts her head slightly, trying to guess why the woman had stopped. 

“Agatha, as in… the one who tried to battle you in Westview? The one who nearly stole my power in my universe? The one with the rabbit?” Scarlet’s voice is disbelieving, and she shakes her head as she processes. A proud chuckle escapes her lips, and she presses a kiss softly against Wanda’s cheek before tugging sharply against the chain. 

A strangled yelp leaves Wanda’s lips, and Scarlet moves her other hand towards the glistening mound between the redhead’s thighs. “I didn’t know you had it in you, darling. Very well done.”

Pride blooms in Wanda’s chest, and she lets a slow smile onto her face as Scarlet begins circling her clit. Those talented fingers avoid the one spot that needs the most attention, instead dipping down and collecting the leaking wetness from her leaking pussy, before smearing it over her inner thighs. 

“Fuck, darling. You’re absolutely soaked, I didn’t realize that fucking yourself, in a manner, would get you this hot and bothered.” Scarlet’s voice is teasing, and Wanda groans as she dips the tips of her fingers into her entrance, before pulling away and smearing it onto her other thigh. 

“Well,” Wanda begins, feeling her thighs tremble from the effort of staying still, “What can I say? We’re attractive, don’t even try to deny it.”

Scarlet hums approvingly, and without any warning, thrusts two fingers knuckle deep into the wet heat of Wanda’s pussy. A moan sounds out, and Scarlet relishes in the way the woman’s walls are clamping around her fingers, before beginning to thrust them quickly. 

The sound of Wanda’s arousal sloshing around her fingers nearly sends Scarlet over the edge, and she grinds her pelvis firmly against Wanda’s backside. Working herself up, Scarlet thrusts quickly, her fingers hitting that sweet spongy spot that has Wanda seeing stars. The gasped moans sound like music to her ears, and she lets out her own moan into Wanda’s ear, pleased with the way the redhead rolls her hips against her fingers. 

Moving her thumb up to apply pressure against her protruding clit, Scarlet tugs sharply at the nipple clamps, before moving her mouth close to Wanda’s ear and muttering, “Cum.”

All it takes is a few more deep thrusts, and Scarlet’s teeth biting into that sensitive spot of Wanda’s neck to bring her orgasm to the surface. She shudders, her walls clamping down on Scarlet’s fingers as they pulsate, the muscles contracting and expanding rapidly. Her clit throbs under the woman’s thumb, each wave of her orgasm feeling just as strong as the last as Scarlet fucks her through it. 

Breathing deeply, Wanda attempts to calm herself down, her clit already overstimulated and painfully sensitive. She pushes Scarlet’s hand away, ignoring the huff from behind her as she turns around and faces the woman fully. 

“You also did very well.” Wanda says cheekily, electing to ignore the eye roll she receives. She places a hand against Scarlet’s flushed cheek, her fingers still trembling from the force of her orgasm as they stroke her skin softly. 

Green eyes stare back at her, flicking to her lips as Wanda pants, regaining her ability to breathe. As soon as her breaths have evened out, she pulls Scarlet closer, their lips colliding gently. Wanda thinks that Scarlet has the softest lips she’d ever had the pleasure of kissing, and moves her own smoothly against hers. 

A strong tongue licks at her bottom lip, and Wanda allows it, enjoying the feel of Scarlet’s tongue against hers as she slowly pushes her down until her shoulder blades hit the mattress. Twisting her fingers, Wanda brings one of the objects to her waiting palm, smirking against the other woman’s lips when it hits her hand. 

Pulling away, Wanda sits up, moving her thighs to either side of Scarlet's waist. She eargerly takes in the halo of reddish-brown hair around her and the way her eyes sparkle as they curiously look at the item in her hand. 

“And what’s that for?” Scarlet asks, her hand already twitching as she reaches for the vibrator. 

Wanda pulls it away, outside of her reach, and chuckles at the crinkle that appears between her eyebrows. She twists her fingers again, causing scarlet tendrils to wrap around the woman’s wrists and pull them towards the headboard. 

“How creative.” Scarlet’s tone is flat, her face unimpressed. 

“I’m not finished yet.” The words are murmured, and Scarlet feels slightly embarrassed at the wave of wetness she feels leak out of her at the sound of Wanda’s low voice. Watching with slightly widened eyes, Scarlet’s mouth falls open at the mirror that appears on the ceiling, showing the two of them perfectly. 

Looking up, Wanda grins at the placement of the mirror. She smirks at Scarlet, hearing the woman’s thoughts running wild as she takes in their forms through the reflective glass. Moving herself back slightly, she traps the woman’s legs between her thighs as she sets the vibrator on the puffy flesh of Scarlet’s mound. 

“I haven’t even turned it on, and you’re already rutting against the toy.” Wanda says, her voice still teasing as Scarlet attempts to still her hips. At the slight glare she receives, Wanda pulls the toy away before delivering a sharp slap to the glistening pussy in front of her. Her fingers hit the woman’s clit perfectly, and she enjoys the jolt that makes its way through Scarlet’s body. 

If the resounding moan is anything to go by, Scarlet loves it. She muffles the moan that attempts to escape her, and Wanda raises a single eyebrow. 

“Don’t quiet yourself, I want to hear every sound I can pull out of you.” Her words are firm, demanding even, and Scarlet nods quickly as she glances towards the toy through the mirror. She would give just about anything to feel its vibrations against her now-aching pussy. 

Almost as if she can read her thoughts (oh wait), Wanda turns the toy on, pressing it deliciously against Scarlet’s protruding clit. Jolts of pleasure rush through her, and she throws her head back while squeezing her eyes tightly shut. 

As soon as she does so, Wanda pulls the toy away, tilting her head when Scarlet looks at her with betrayal in her eyes, asking in a whiny tone, “Why?”

“I want you to look at yourself when I make you cum from a single toy.” Wanda’s tone is smug, almost too smug for Scarlet’s liking, but any protests she has fade away when the redhead turns the toy back on, bumping up the strength slightly. 

A string of curse words leaves her lips, her eyes locked on the toy through the mirror. Eventually, they wander towards her slightly squirming hips, and she moans at the sight. Tugging at her restraints, Scarlet watches the way her muscles flex as she attempts to escape their tight hold, and for a moment, she thinks she sees Wanda’s body instead of her own. 

That would make sense, seeing as they were literally the same person, and Scarlet feels the lines between them start to blur as her orgasm rises. She sneaks a glance down, watching as Wanda’s eyes greedily take in the sight of her squirming body. That scene alone makes her gush around the toy, the vibrations increasing in sound as the liquid vibrates between her pussy and the toy. 

“Do you want to cum?” Wanda asks, not giving her the chance to respond before she continues. “You know, I’m never able to keep still either when I touch myself at home. A vibrator practically makes me move all over the bed, and I have to restrain my hips against the bed whenever I use it.” 

Scarlet’s lips fall open, and Wanda smirks when she reads the thoughts running through her hazy mind. “Ah, you do the same thing, huh? I guess we really aren’t that different from each other, even though we’re from different universes.”

The thought of Wanda getting off to a vibrator while restraining herself plays on repeat in Scarlet’s mind, and she cants her own hips upwards as she feels her orgasm close in. Streams of pleas leave her lips, the woman too far gone to feel much shame about it. 

“Please, let me… fuck. I’m so- I’m. Fuck. Close, I’m close. Please, I need to… let me. I need to cum. Please.” Scarlet writhes against her restraints, feeling Wanda’s thighs tighten around her own thighs as she minimizes the movements of her legs. 

“Wanda, please.” At the sound of her own name falling from those familiar lips, Wanda turns the vibrations up a few levels, pressing the toy firmly against Scarlet’s spasming pussy. Loud moans reverberate around the dim room, the scent of arousal filling Wanda’s nose as she watches the woman below her with intense focus. 

“Cum for me, darling.” The words are soft, but the second they leave Wanda’s lips, Scarlet feels her orgasm crash over her.

White hot tendrils of pleasure course through her, her hips jolting against the toy as she feels another wave of wetness coat the head of the vibrator. Wanda’s thighs are firm against hers, limiting the effect of her convulsions as her orgasm hits her with wave after wave of pleasure cascades through her body. 

Feeling like her nerves are quite shot, Scarlet whimpers when the vibrations against her clit become painful, her pussy clenching around nothing as wetness leaks all over her inner thighs and down to the comforter. Wanda turns down the settings on the toy to the lowest level, helping Scarlet ride out the aftershocks and prolonging the pleasure as long as possible. 

After a minute or two, Scarlet’s eyes plead with Wanda to turn off the toy, her throat feeling hoarse from the ragged moans that ripped through it. The only thing she can manage is a whispered, “Please.”

Wanda turns off the toy, discarding it somewhere behind her as she leans down to kiss the trembling lips on the woman below her. Her shift of position causes Scarlet to feel the pool of wetness that had leaked from the redhead’s own throbbing center against her thighs, and she moans into her mouth. 

Twisting her fingers again, Wanda releases Scarlet from the tendrils of magic restraining her wrists. Feeling those hands come down and wrap themselves in her hair, she hums pleasantly against the woman’s mouth, gasping at the sharp tug that follows. 

A strong tongue snakes into her mouth, sliding pleasantly against her own as Scarlet practically devours her lips and tongue. Her teeth graze Wanda’s bottom lip lightly, almost teasingly, before biting down and pulling. 

Breaking the kiss with a gasp, Wanda grinds her overheated core against the hard muscles of Scarlet's now-soaked thighs. She kisses away the smirk that appears on the woman’s face, using her magic to bring another toy to her hand. 

“I want to ride you.” Wanda is pleased with the groan her words draw from Scarlet’s throat, the woman’s eyes widening with anticipation at the strap on clenched in Wanda’s hand. Her hands gesture urgently, fingers trembling as she clenches the comforter below her. 

Waving her hand, Wanda watches scarlet wisps attach the strap to Scarlet’s pelvis. This toy was different from the strap she had in her own universe, as it didn’t have a harness. Instead, there was a smaller dildo attached that slipped inside the person wearing it, creating the illusion that the toy was genuinely attached to the woman. 

A groan leaves Scarlet’s swollen lips, Wanda’s hand tugging against the toy as she makes sure it’s attached correctly. The smaller part of the toy buried in Scarlet's pussy hits her g-spot perfectly, the larger dildo on the outside pressing snugly against her clit. 

Grasping at Wanda’s waist, Scarlet’s hands impatiently position the redhead over the strap. Scarlet positions herself against the headboard slightly, just enough so that she can still watch their movements through the mirror while also looking directly at Wanda’s face. 

“Go on.” The raspy quality of Scarlet’s voice causes another wave of wetness to escape Wanda’s core, and she slowly sinks down on the strap, giving herself time to adjust. The hands around her waist move down until they grip her hips, helping her take the last inch of the toy, both of them sighing in sync when the strap bottoms out. 

Wanda experimentally moves her hips, just slightly, as a strangled moan escapes her when the tip of the toy drags over that spongy spot inside her. She begins fucking herself on the strap, Scarlet’s hands resting against her hips, the woman’s eyes eagerly taking in the sight before her. 

“You look absolutely beautiful like this.” Scarlet’s voice is almost reverent, her eyes unblinking as she watches the glistening strap when Wanda sinks down on it over and over again. She lets her eyes wander up Wanda’s body, taking in her breasts as they bounce slightly with each thrust of Wanda’s hips. 

“That’s a bit conceited, don’t you think?” Wanda has a single eyebrow raised, her voice breathless as she focuses on the building pleasure coursing through her. She grinds herself against Scarlet's pelvis, the strap hitting her g-spot perfectly as the strap is buried inside her overheating pussy. 

Scarlet chuckles, her fingers gripping Wanda’s hips tighter and urging her hips to move faster. She moves her lips closer to Wanda’s grazing them as she speaks, “Well, its like you said earlier, we’re both hot as fuck, darling.”

Wanda doesn’t respond, choosing instead to capture her other self’s lips in a searing kiss. Her teeth clack against Scarlet’s, her lips desperate as she sucks and bites at the woman’s already swollen lips. She feels the fingers around her hips dig in, and she’s positive that she’ll find multiple bruises in the morning. 

Breaking the kiss, Scarlet enjoys the whimper that escapes Wanda as she lifts her hips and slams her back on the strap. “Fuck yourself, Wanda.”

A few broken moans ring out, and Wanda uses all the strength she has left to lift her hips repeatedly. White hot pleasure builds, the pressure in her core becoming unbearable as Scarlet begins thrusting her hips as well. 

“I’m going to cum.” Wanda’s voice is strained, her head thrown back as her eyes close of their own accord. Scarlet can’t blame her, knowing how desperate she also becomes when a strap on is involved. Using a single hand, she begins applying pressure against Wanda’s throbbing clit. 

The hard nub pulsates beneath her fingers, and Wanda’s movements become uncoordinated and jerky, a sign that means she’s close to an orgasm. Scarlet feels a rush of power, and she leans her own head back, watching both of them through the mirror on the ceiling. Her fingers slip over Wanda’s clit, arousal coating them as she circles it quickly. 

“Let go, Wanda. Cum for me, you can do it.” Scarlet urges, watching as the redhead comes undone. She shakes, her hips rutting against the toy as she lets out a few strained moans. Her orgasm is quick, the aftershocks holting through her until she’s almost dizzy from the stimulation. Still, it's not enough. 

“More,” Wanda chokes out, her chest heaving and mind hazy as she feels pleasure build once more. “I need more, please.”

In one quick movement, Scarlet moves forwards, maneuvering them until Wanda’s back is pressed against the mattress, her eyes looking directly at the mirror on the ceiling. From this angle, she can watch as Scarlet’s back muscles flex while her hips thrust roughly into her. It's a mesmerizing sight, and only causes her orgasm to race towards the edge once more. 

The sound of a metal chain clinking shocks Wanda out of her daze, and she suddenly remembers the nipple clamps still attached to her. From the look on Scarlet’s face, she’s immensely pleased with this, and her fingers wrap around the chain as she moves into a kneeling position. 

“Keep watching in the mirror, you’re going to enjoy this.” 

“Fuck.” That’s the only word that Wanda can manage, her eyes glued to Scarlet’s form in the mirror. She watches her hand gently tug at the chain, her nipples stretching slightly. She sighs at the pleasurable jolts of pain that shoot through her at the action, her hips jerking as she attempts to fuck herself against the strap. 

She needs more. 

A smirk appears on Scarlet’s face as soon as the thought runs through Wanda’s mind, and she snaps her hips sharply. Pulling the length of the toy almost completely out of the poor redhead’s soaked entrance, she tugs harshly at the nipple clamps while simultaneously thrusting the entire toy deep inside of Wanda. 

The sound that tears from Wanda’s throat is animalistic, her pupils blown as she watches Scarlet’s hips pound against hers as the strap reaches the deepest parts of her pussy. Her fingers clench the comforter beneath her, her knuckles completely white as she grits her teeth and arches her back. 

“Tell me how much you want it, how much you need to cum.” Scarlet demands, her tone as unforgiving as the rapid pace she sets. She waves her hand, the vibrator slapping against her palm as Wanda begins speaking, her words broken and desperate.

“Please, I- fuck. I need it so bad, please. I’ll… do… fucking hell. I’ll do anything. Just, please- jesus. Please let me, oh fuck… right there. Yes, fuck. Let me come. Please.” The words are babbled, some coherent and others mumbled breathily as Wanda’s eyes glaze over. 

Scarlet has never seen a more beautiful sight. 

Skilled hands turn the vibrator on, setting it to one of the highest vibration levels. Wanda whines at the sound of the toy, her legs squeezing in an attempt to close against the overstimulation she knows she’s about to receive. 

“You’ll take everything I give you.” Scarlet’s voice is low, her eyes glinting in the low light of the room. She pries Wanda’s thighs apart, her hips thrusting quickly as she presses the vibrator to Wanda’s swollen clit. 

Wanda’s hips jerk violently, tears forming in her eyes at the painful stimulation. It’s enough, and exactly what she’d begged so prettily for, and she’s cumming within seconds. Her clit pulses against the toy, tears streaming down her face as her back arches even more. Her fingers grasp at Scarlet’s wrists, but with a few scarlet tendrils, they’re quickly pinned above her head. 

Lewd noises sound out, Wanda’s cries going unheard as Scarlet watches her in fascination. She has an idea, and pulls the vibrator away, enjoying the relieved sobs that tear through Wanda’s throat for a moment, before her hands are rough against the redhead’s waist. 

Pulling the strap from the poor woman, she flips her onto her stomach, conjuring a second mirror in front of them. Pulling her ass up, she positions Wanda on her knees, before sharply tugging at her hair and forcing her to look into the mirror. 

Moaning at the sight she sees, Wanda takes in the strong form of Scarlet behind her, pulling her hands uselessly against her restraints as the woman’s hips move relentlessly. The strap reaches the deepest part of Wanda’s clenching pussy, streams of arousal coating the length of it as she’s fucked roughly from behind. 

Green eyes lock together through the mirror, both with pupils so blown their irises seem almost black, and Wanda feels the deep ache of another orgasm rising. Her walls flutter around the strap, sloshing sounds filling the room and mixing with her shaky moans as Scarlet watches intently. 

“I can’t.” Wanda manages, feeling spent, her legs trembling to hold her up even as Scarlet's hands move to support her hips. 

“You can,” Scarlet grits out, slamming her hips faster, “And you will.” 

A guttural sound leaves Wanda’s throat, the sound ripping through her as Scarlet places the vibrator back on her clit. She falls face down on the mattress, the hand in her hair adjusting her so she can still watch through the mirror with one half-closed eye. She feels a painful ache spread through her body as her orgasm rises, and bites back a sob when her sensitive nipples brush against the comforter with each deep thrust of the strap. 

“Now, Wanda.” Scarlet’s voice is smooth and low, her breaths even as she watches the scene through the mirror. “Cum.”

Her final orgasm tears through her body, flames of pleasure roaring through her veins as Wanda weakly fights against her restraints. She tries to escape the seemingly never-ending pleasure, but Scarlet’s tight hold on her hips prevents any attempts. 

“Too much.” Wanda chokes out, her vision darkening around the edges as Scarlet thrusts the toy deep inside her one last time. Her whole body is trembling, and she nearly sobs in relief when the vibrator is turned off and discarded somewhere on the bed. 

“You did so well,” Scarlet murmurs, watching the cum stained strap as she slowly pulls it out of Wanda’s spasming pussy. She ignores the whimper that the action draws from Wanda, her fingers tracing gentle circles on the woman’s lower back as she finally pulls the toy out. 

“I’ve never…” Wanda begins, her voice weak. Scarlet shushes her, twisting her spent body until Wanda is laying with her back against the mattress. Twisting her fingers, she removes the restraints around Wanda’s wrists, and sends her toys off to be cleaned, choosing to keep the ceiling mirror where it is. 

Conjuring a warm, damp washcloth, Scarlet begins cleaning the multitude of juices coating Wanda’s inner thighs as her other hand strokes through the woman’s scarlet hair softly. Wanda practically basks in the attentive way Scarlet helps her down, grounding herself with each gentle stroke of the washcloth and each slow pass of the woman’s long fingers against her scalp.

“Feel good?” Wanda would scoff at the question, if she had the strength to do so. Instead, she chooses to nod slowly, her eyes closing of their own accord. 

Eventually, Scarlet finishes cleaning her up, and presses a gentle kiss against Wanda’s swollen lips before laying down next to her and pulling her body close to her own. 

“I bet we make quite a sight.” Wanda murmurs, turning to her side and facing the other version of herself. She still can’t quite believe that Scarlet is real, but the sex… now that certainly felt real. 

“I’m real, darling.” Scarlet sounds tired, her arms wrapping around Wanda’s waist. “And I guarantee that we do.”

Wanda babbles something incoherent, already half asleep as she nuzzles further into Scarlet’s warmth. Her hands snake around the woman’s shoulders, pulling her closer as she pulls the comforter up around them. She tries to say something else, her words slurred as her eyes attempt to open, and Scarlet chuckles. 

“Hush, Wanda. Go to sleep.” Her tone is fond, her own eyes closing even as she tries to keep them open. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

A single green eye peers up at her, sparkling in the dim lighting as a small smile appears on Wanda’s face. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

[secriden]

rewatching love sea and i've got some episode 1 mahasamut thoughts:

i'm so appreciative of how much we get to see of mahasamut being an important part of the island community in this episode. its character establishing/quick scenes but we see a consistent thread of kindness, gentle and good humoured interactions, and just overall helpfulness to others. you see him having fun with palm who is younger and clearly loves and respects mahasamut. you see how he knows and cares for different people in very personal ways.

another thing epsiode 1 does a good job of doing is establishing how intelligent mahasamut is both intellectually and emotionally.

he instantly clocks on that tongrak thinks the island/mahasamut is "beneath" him. tongrak is a jerk from the get go, acting as if his wealth (constantly referring to how expensive his suitcases are) allows him to treat mahasamut like crap. he assumes mahasamut can't speak/understand the central dialect and openly makes disparaging comments about his intelligence.

but rather than getting annoyed/offended, mahasamut weaponises the prejudice and leans into it to annoy tongrak. he doubles down on the Southern dialect (even after he reveals he can speak Central). when tongrak whines about not understanding him, mahasamut just repeats himself but slower (such a good allusion to when people yell at you slower and more loudly as if that will magically make you understand English better). he leans into the whole 'small town awed at the fair skin of the city boy' act (masterful depiction of someone weaponising the 'dumb country hick' stereotype).

mahasamut just has such a good handle on tongrak from the start and it really showcases how smart and intuitive he is; like he instinctively knows how to handle this feral cat of a human being that tongrak is (i say this with complete affection).

his handling of tongrak is so incredibly effective and it throws tongrak so off his game that he looses all cool and just blurts out how baffled he is by mahasamut's reactions to him. this tells us (and mahasamut) that not only is tongrak aware that he's being a jerk, he's doing it on purpose because this usually works to drive people away. but it doesn't and never will work on mahasamut and the show lays the foundations of this aspect of mahasamut's character right from the start.

but whilst mahasamut remains unfazed by tongrak's bitchiness (for lack of a better term), we also see that he is not going to be a pushover either (and i love that he never becomes that even after he falls in love; in this, mahasamut's character is wonderfully consistent). he isn't shy about calling out tongrak for his poor behaviour/rudeness. he specifically points out that tongrak's been acting like a spoiled pet (or child).

but also!! whilst all that is going on, mahasamut is also doing a really good job of taking care of tongrak. when he enters tongrak's room, he cleans up after the tornado of trash and beer bottles, puts away his clothes properly, then brings tongrak out to get some proper food in him (it's not his fault that tongrak only has a single lettuce leaf; he tried). mahasamut takes him out on the boat to relax him and give him inspiration for his novel. and when he realises that tongrak was genuinely scared and upset, mahasamut actually treats that with sincere care and concern, apologising and comforting him (in the novel, apparently tongrak slaps him and he still responds only with care and comfort). he's so incredibly gentle with tongrak here.

later in the series we see how much of their relationship development hinges on the the juxtaposition of words vs actions because neither of them put much stock by words (tongrak, because they are the tools of his trade and he knows how they can be used to deceive; mahasamut because he never cares what people say about him) but episode 1 does a great job of establish just how good mahasamut is going to be at showing his love for tongrak once he gets there.

[ofmdrecaps]

11/25-26/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR: Happy Belated Birthday Kristian!; Taika Waititi; Rachel House & David Fane; Joel Fry; Samson Kayo; Samba Schutte; Vico Ortiz; Anapela Polata'ivao; Guz Khan; Nat Torres; Damien Gerard; Fan Spotlight; Our Flag Means Fanfiction; Never Left Podcast; OFMD Spin the Bottle; Love Notes;

Also delayed due to Tumblr Blip, sorry all! I have some other great news though! The absolute sweetheart @lowrahh has volunteered to join my team to help get Alt Text added to the recaps! She's on the opposite side of the world so we may have some time syncing differences, but she's been helping me the last few days and it's been amazing! Thank you so much @lowrahh! Alrighty, on to the recap!

== Happy (Belated) Birthday Kristian! ==

Happy belated birthday to our dear Wee John-- Kristian Nairn! (11/25/2024) And guess what, he's on Bluesky now!

Source: Kristian Nairn's Instagram

Also, coming soon, is a new track by Kristian and MikeT! - Echo!

Source: Elliptical Sun Instagram

= Taika Waititi =

More interviews with Taika about Interior Chinatown! Silly things like "if you had an entrance song, what would it be?"

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A post shared by Nicki Sun (@nickisun)

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A post shared by GOLD HOUSE (@goldhouseco)

Source: Interior Chinatown Hulu

= Rachel House & David Fane =

Rachel House, our Mary Reed, and our beloved Fang, David Fane were out at the Moana 2 Premiere in Australia! Moana 2 comes out in the US the 27th! Check it out if you can!

Source: ABC Pacific

Just some quick pics of our cast <3

Source: For Your Ref Pod

And David just being adorable.

Source: Awhimai Frasier Instagram

Source: Pere Yonce Instagram

And some silly interview questions at the premiere!

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A post shared by FLAVA (@flavaradio)

Source: Flavaradio

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A post shared by K-Zone (@kzonemag)

Source: Kzonemag

= Joel Fry =

Our dear Frenchie is joining Ncuti Gatwa in the Doctor Who Christmas Special this year!

Source: Adopt Our Crew Bsky

= Samson Kayo =

Samson is going to be in the new Voltron cast along with several other amazing stars!

Source: Amazon MGM Studios and AdoptOurCrew Bsky. and Samson's instagram

= Vico Ortiz =

Our ever busy Jim Jimenez, Vico Ortiz is joining "Reckless Spirits", a short comedy film! There's a crowdfunding effort for getting it going! Any gifts made today through EOD on Thursday, November 28 will be DOUBLED by a match (up to $7,500). Wanna learn more or support it? Check out: https://bit.ly/reckless-giving

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A post shared by vee hua 華婷婷 [fka vivian] (@hellomynameisvee)

Source: Hello My Name is Vee's IG

Some love from a fan of one of Vico's voice acting works!

Source: Vico's Bsky

I believe this has been share before but Vico is out sharing things they've been tagged in so let's post it again! The audio version of Blood City Rollers by V.P. Anderson, Tatiana Hill, and featuring voicework by Vico! Check it out here!

Source: Vico's Bsky

= Samba Schutte =

One of the short films Samba starred in - Best Life - has been nominated for the LA Independent Film Channel Festival for 2024!

Source: Valerie and Chaney IG

= Anapela Polataivao =

In case you haven't cried today, here's Rachel House, sending love to Auntie! (Anapela Polata'ivao)

In other Tinā news, it'll be heading to the 2025 Palm Springs International Film Festival in the World Cinema Now section at select locations between Jan 4-10! To get tickets, visit the Palm Springs Site!

Source: Tinā the Film Instagram

= Guz Khan =

Guz is sending out some love to these bakers!

Source: Guz Khans IG stories

And here's Guz showing off in his sweet ride.

Source: Guz Khan's Threads

= Nat Torres =

Nat Torres, writer extraordinaire, always bringing a smile to our faces <3

Source: Nat's Instagram

= Damien Gerard =

As always, our Father Teach, aka Damien Gerard, one of the coolest cat dads on the web, loves to keep us busy with cat content!

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Our Flag Means Fanfiction =

New mini-episode of Our Flag Means Fanfiction is up! This time covering The "HighSchool Jukebox" Fics by @oatmilktruther! Read by BabyKraken! Check it out here!

Source: Our Flag Means Fanfiction Spotify.

= Never Left Podcast =

A new episode of Never Left is out on your favorite Podcast Platforms! This part 2 of the Flags set-- you can check it out on their linktr.ee!

Source: Never Left Podcast Instagram

= Seven_Sugars Spin the Bottle =

For those of you on Bluesky and Twitter, you may have seen this very fun post by Ashley (aka Seven_Sugars). It's a gif of our cast and a spinning bottle! You just screenshot the gif and it tells you who you get! (I got Lucius which is 100% awesome by me, call me Pete because I love that man). Wanna try it out? Visit Ashley's Bsky!

Source: Seven Sugars Bsky

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies! There's definitely been some reminders lately that this time of year isn't the best time for everyone. Remember to be kind to yourself and don't beat yourself up too much ok? Sometimes you do everything right. Sometimes you do your best, you bust your ass, and then shit goes horribly wrong the last second. Whether it's a draft on something fan related, or getting to work on time, or preparing a candid talk with someone or being careful driving on ice, and someone else hitting you from behind. Whatever it is-- life sometimes just does not cooperate with your expectations.

To top it off, that can be very hard if you've already been dealing with so much. It really can. It can seem like.. NOTHING goes right, and like everything is frustrating, and when your cup is already full of nonsense it just starts overflowing.

You know what the good news is? Your cup will slowly drain over time the kinder you are to yourself. Rest helps it drain, love helps it drain, comfort helps it drain so you can have more room for the next thing that happens. Right now it feels like too much because your body and your mind need a break, and you deserve a break. Winter time is normally meant for human beings and animals to hibernate! To recover with the seasons! But now we work all the time, and it can burn us out real fast. Take care of yourselves, take breaks, and if shit goes wrong, keep taking breaks, if you can, until it doesn't feel so hard anymore <3 I hope you all rest this week and have some self-care time off if you have it-- and if you don't, please be safe out there. Thinking of you.

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[iluvzaddies]

run rabbit run (2)

pairing: yandere!childe x reader

warnings: unhealthy behavior/relationship, violence, nsfw

inspired by: episode 8 of the hbo series “the last of us”

summary: you are out of food as well as medical supplies, so in order to save your father, you take matters into your own hands. you unexpectedly run into a young master in the forest, who is after the same rabbit as you. since he is persistent on getting the rabbit, you make a bargain with him. he develops a liking to you and decides you are his new personal little rabbit.

twenty minutes later, childe’s butler returned with the supplies. you were still holding up your rifle and it made him quite nervous to go near you, but he had gotten used to being around dangerous stuff, so it didn’t faze him as much as it did back then.

“here. medical supplies, medication and food supplies.” he stated, handing over the goods to you.

you snatched all of it from him, rummaging through the first aid kit to see if it was legit, reading whatever was jotted down on the penicillin bottles, and smelling the food to check if it was poisoned or not.

you sent the two men one last glare before running back to the direction of your house.

“not even a “thank you” or a “goodbye”? how impolite.” childe pouted as he watched your figure disappear into the forest, then he suddenly grinned and said, “i like her.”

“you what, master?” his butler choked on his saliva. “that peasant?–“

“hush. you shall not speak about her that way.”  he raised his hand, stopping his butler from insulting you, his beloved, any further. oh, how he wished you were still here, by his side or better yet, in his arms. he had the chance to take you back home with him, but unfortunately, he let you go.

aw, what a shame. his family would have loved to have you over.

childe looked down and saw footprints on the ground. right, the ground was covered in snow, deep enough to leave evident tracks. how silly of him to forget about their nation’s current weather, caused by the tsaritsa, whom he served.

he chuckled, thanking the snow for basically showing the way to your house.

knowing he could track you down, he decided that you were his next target, his new rabbit to hunt.

you better run rabbit. run.

-

you busted into your house and once you stepped foot inside, you immediately slammed the door shut. you didn’t want the cold wind to make your father sick, not when he was already in enough pain.

“father.” you called out, but he didn’t respond. he remained silent and immobilized on the couch.

“father, i brought you some stuff that’ll help make you feel better.” you continued to speak, despite receiving no response.

first, you set the food aside on the kitchen counter and second, you knelt down beside the couch, placing the first aid kit on the ground.

“okay, here’s what i’m gonna do. i’m gonna insert a needle into your system which contains penicillin. then, i’ll stitch you up with a needle and thread. then, i’ll change that cloth with an actual bandage.” you rambled. “y–you taught me everything there is i need to know, but i– i’d be lying if i said i wasn’t scared right now. i’m not a medical expert and i don’t trust the rich at all–“

“what are you talking about?” you heard a groan come out of his mouth.

“father!–“

“did you make a deal with the rich or something just to get me these things?”

“yeah, i did.” you rubbed your elbow.

“how’d you persuade ‘em?”

“i threatened to shoot them with your rifle.”

after you said that, silence filled the air.

beads of sweat started form on your forehead. was he mad? was he mad at you for messing with the rich? but you did make a fair trade, no? but you also threatened them. shit. maybe master dickface was holding in his anger the whole time and had yet to release his pent up frustration.

you snapped out of your thoughts when he broke into a fit of laughter. loud and genuine laughter. something you hadn’t heard in months. he was always stressed these days and barely laughed like he used to. it was a relief to hear it again.

“my sides hurt… literally…” he stopped laughing, clutching the cloth wrapped around his waist.

“yeah, let’s fix that, shall we?” and so, you proceeded to treat his wound. “thanks, hun.”

“you’re not mad?”

he raised his brow. “my little girl had the courage to go against those imbeciles for the sake of her old man. you made a deal with them and you were able to get what you wanted in the end, so why in the hell would i be mad? it’s not like you’re in debt with them. speaking of a deal, what did you offer them?”

“a rabbit.”

“really?” he deadpanned.

“hey, they actually wanted it. well, the master– i call him master dickface– wanted it for his mother. he said she loved rabbit fur coats or whatever the fancy term of that is. i saw the opportunity, so i made a deal with him.”

“wait, did you say rabbit fur coats?” his brows furrowed. “(y/n), what did this master look like?”

you were taken aback by his sudden interest. “uh, he was tall, muscular, had pale skin, blue eyes, ginger hair and a hydro vision.” he was handsome too, but you left that out in your description. “he’s a vision user, father! can you believe i threatened a vision user? thank the archons i made it back in one piece!”

your father started to grow visibly concerned. “don’t tell me… this master goes by the name of childe?”

“yeah– wait, how– how do you know him?!”

“fuck.” was all he could utter at the moment.

taglist:

 @scarasvision @vvyeislazzy @ursinaw @fantasy-enthusiast @weepykisser @cryoarchoness @dreamlessnight @kazusbby

thank you so much for supporting this story 🫶

(part 3)

[thepunkmuppet]

thinking about an alternate season 7 wherein instead of every potential slayer being hunted and then activated, every past slayer gets brought back to life. I don’t really like post-chosen content anyway, but when I do read / look at it the whole slayer academy, everyone’s a slayer thing is really stupid to me ngl 💀

previous slayers, though… nikki wood and xin rong interacting with spike, actually finding out about the slayer before buffy, slayers with different backgrounds and situations and personalities, KENDRA?! I just love it so much.

you’d be able to focus on a relatively small cast of slayers, much like the potentials, throughout the season. this would include buffy, faith, kendra, nikki, and some other american slayers from varying time periods with a couple interesting international characters too (maybe a slayer from ancient greece / rome / egypt, or an anglo-saxon one or something). these are all experienced slayers, so no need to focus on training - it would be more about lore, history and their personal character journeys, assimilating them into society (creating some fun bottle episodes, maybe a day out on the town with dawn and a historical slayer) and trying to figure out why they were all brought back. also, if you want to keep the first as the main villain, then it can look like any one of them because they’re all technically dead, which means you can still have that episode with the dead potential revealing herself as the first and all the mistrust that’s threaded throughout the season.

plus with nikki back, there would be no need for the stupid sleeper agent thing with spike or the ridiculous fight between him and robin. all the same ideas (and the flashbacks to spike’s mum) could still be explored, and in a way better way imo.

I reckon the reason they were brought back would probably be the powers that be (tying nicely into angel ofc) trying to defeat the first. and of course the ending would be this huge battle, as all the slayers from around the world come to sunnydale, and maybe to add some drama they would all disappear and die again when the battle’s done as they have fulfilled their purpose (a classic finale knife to the heart that would have everyone sobbing, especially over nikki and kendra).

there’s also the added thing of like,, I appreciate the show was leaning towards a theme of “hope for the future” with the potentials angle, but literally every other aspect of the season is about harkening back to the past. faith, robin, the first taking the form of previous characters, the high school, the slayer origins, etc etc. so I just think this idea would work so much better with the themes of the season, and tie in really nicely.

and the most obvious perk of this concept is kendra! she was forgotten about so quickly, and this season would really give the writers a chance to redeem themselves for the terrible way poc characters have been treated throughout the show (ignoring what they did to robin. FUCK that but that’s another conversation). I think the show really downplayed how much kendra’s death would have affected buffy, and seeing the two of them interact after buffy has changed so much and kendra’s still the same would be amazing. there’s also the interesting concept that, having been brought back from the dead, kendra still be 17, and therefore closer in age to dawn than to buffy, which could make for some really nice interactions between the two of them. also of course the biggest most exciting thing is having buffy, faith and kendra all interact. they all represent places on a spectrum in terms of personality, and I would LOVE to see kendra and faith interact and how much of a unit they would likely become as a trio.

there’s also the theme of buffy feeling (and being) alone in this season that would hopefully go away, as she would now have dozens of people who truly understand her, giving her a proper support system which I would love to see (season 7 scoobies can actually eat shit btw <3)

so. was this born out of my hatred for insufferable kennedy and the annoying potentials? yes absolutely. do I now want them to rewrite and re-film the entire last season 20 years later? yes absolutely I’m so glad you understand

side note wouldn’t it be sick if in the final battle there’s just this one slo-mo shot where buffy stakes a vamp and through the dust she sees the first slayer looking at her from across the battlefield before she disappears amongst the fight. WHAT it would literally be awesome hello?!

also also other side note sorry but Mother(TM) nikki wood would NEVER kick buffy out of her own house. fuck them kids fr

[imagines--galore]

||The Thread of Fate|| Part Twenty-Three

Summary: Soulmate AU. They say the Thread of Fate connects you to your one true love. It may tangle. It may stretch. But it will never break. Wrapped around your little finger it tightens when it feels your soulmate is close and loosens when they are far. And becomes visible with the colors of your soulmate’s Nation when you finally fall in love with them.

Pairing: Zuko x OroraOC (ATLA)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure.

Previous Chapters - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty-One, Part Twenty-Two,

A/N: Alright so this chapter covers three episodes. The FireLord and the Avatar, the Runaway and the Puppetmaster!

The gentle knock on his door alerted Iroh. He sat up from where he had been laying on the floor trying to sleep. The heavy metal door opened to reveal a Fire Nation soldier who quickly approached him.

"Ah Ming! I was getting worried." Iroh stated with a pleasant smile, as if he were greeting her for tea, and not from behind bars. The young woman, gave him a brief smile before her expression turned serious.

"The rounds have just changed, so we don't have much time." Ming whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the closed door, as she quickly pulled out a scroll, a bottle of ink and a writing brush. She held them out towards Iroh through the bars, who took them quickly and once she had produced a small flame to provide some light, he wrote down his message.

Once done, he blew on it so that the ink would dry quickly. "I thank you for your help, my dear. It is nice to see our children carry out our mission." Iroh said, smiling at the young guard who returned the gesture with a respectful bow of her head. "My father and I are honored to be of service to such a high ranking official of the Order of the White Lotus."

The ink dried, and once he had added in the secret message that could only be revealed by flame, he rolled it up and held it out for Ming to take. "Will you be able to deliver it to my nephew?" He asked, worry gnawing at his heart as he thought of the lost young boy. Ming nodded confidentially. "My brother will be on rounds near the Prince's rooms tomorrow night. He knows of our secret work and shall ensure this reaches him."

Relief passed through him as he nodded. With a final respectful bow, the young soldier was gone, leaving Iroh to mull over what he had done.

This was his final attempt to try and help his nephew. Perhaps, he should have taken this route long ago, but he had not want to burden Zuko.

But it did not matter now. If a heavy burden meant Zuko would choose the right path, then he would have to learn to carry it.

Iroh just hoped Orora would be there to help him shoulder that burden when the time came.

                                          ————————–

Orora glanced over where Aang was mumbling in his sleep. She smiled as he rolled over before settling once more.

Where once the nights she'd stare into the fire would be a rather depressing past time, now it brought her a sense of calm. Especially since she spent the entire day trying to make sure no one tried to do seriously hurt or maim anyone.

It was a mystery how Toph hadn't crushed anyone under a rock, or Aang hadn't blasted anyone into the sky, or Katara hadn't frozen anyone, or Sokka hadn't hit anyone over the head with his boomerang with how much they all bickered. Granted it wasn't anything malicious, but when tempers were high, especially with teenagers, anything could happen.

She was the designated peacemaker within the group, a title she shared with Aang. Though while Aang used words of wisdom to calm the situation, which weren't exactly received well by the audience most of the time, Orora preferred to have them speak their mind, and try to come up with a solution that would benefit both parties.

A tantrum didn't last more then a few hours. If it was really bad, it would last a day or so, but that was the extent of it.

Still, she smiled to herself as she looked around at the sleeping figures, it was nice to have a role in the little group. It was kind of the same role she had played while traveling with Zuko and Iroh, though back then it had been exclusively for Zuko and whatever inner turmoil he faced.

Did he face any of that inner turmoil now? She mused to herself as she stared into the fire, taking comfort in the gentle warmth of it. Probably not, since he had the life he'd always wanted. Did he ever think about her? Did he ever think what had happened to her after his betrayal?

She highly doubted it, she sighed, rising to her feet and walking to where her bed roll was. Burying herself under the covers, her mind still swimming with thoughts of her Soulmate, missing the way her string briefly shone red.

Her eyes slowly slid closed.

                                          ————————–

His eyes snapped open.

Zuko's ears perked at the sound of footsteps just outside his door. Throwing off his blanket he rushed to the hall to investigate. He opened the door, only to be greeted by the sight of a cloaked figure disappearing around the corner. Zuko made to follow, only to stop when he caught sight of a scroll on the floor.

The curtains all along the hall blew gently in the breeze coming from the open windows as he held the scroll.

A hand closed over the fingers that held the scroll, prompting him to look up. Orora gave him a smile from where she stood across from him.

He blinked and she was gone, but her nod of encouragement was all he needed to break the seal and open the scroll to read his Uncle's message within.

                                          ————————–

Katara and Sokka were a little occupied in a squabble, which meant that Toph and Orora had to make themselves scarce so as not to be dragged into their sibling disagreement.

"The only downside of being on an island, is that you would never be able to really get away from people." Orora stated before she jumped from one hardened lava stream to another. Toph chuckled as she followed. "Yeah! I wander how did the couples who lived here take a break from one another?" She jested to which Orora grinned.

"Maybe the wife threw the husband in the volcano?" She suggested to which Toph grinned widely. "I love how your dark your mind can get. Its really refreshing." She stated in a joyful tone, to which Orora laughed. "Oh yeah? None of the others share their dark thoughts with you?" She asked, to which Toph shook her head.

"Nope! Katara and Aang are too nice to think dark thoughts." The earthbender stated, as she created a small bridge where the distance between the frozen lava rivers was a bit too big. "And Sokka is well, Sokka."

The older girl let out a bark of laughter. "No arguments there. But I guess when you've lived in isolation like the two of us have nearly our whole lives." She nudged Toph playfully. "Thinking dark thoughts tends to be a good past time."

It was strange how much she had in common with a thirteen year old. While Orora had lived a life where she was forced to live in submission of her father and brothers, Toph had lived a life where she was coddled and treated as an invalid, just because she was blind.

The context did not matter.

What mattered was that they had each led lives where they felt like they were alone in the world.

"Whats the darkest thought you have ever had?" Orora asked Toph, to which the girl shrugged. "What my life would've been like if I didn't have my bending." The girl revealed to which Orora came to a sudden halt. "My life would be even darker then it already is." Toph continued as she kicked her foot out, loose ash forming a small cloud around her as she did.

Reaching out, Orora took her head and smiled down at her, even if she couldn't see it. "Well, the Spirits blessed you with earthbending, so lets leave it at that."

Toph smiled back, the cloud that had suddenly loomed over her dissipating, as she squeezed Orora's hand. "What about you? Whats your darkest thought?"

The older girl pursed her lips, her gaze trained towards the wide open ocean as it stretched out in front of them. "That I will die alone."

Silence followed her confession, one that was finally broken by Toph. "Woah, that's even darker then mine." She said in a tone that was half-joking and yet somehow serious and worried as well. "Why do you think that?" She asked, curious to know what went on in the older girl's mind.

Orora sighed, running a hand down her face. "I don't know. I guess because now that Zuko has betrayed me, I know there is no chance of my being with him." It still hurt saying it, but she continued. "And yeah, I could find someone else, but would I be able to have what I did with Zuko?"

So saying she slumped to sit down on the ash covered ground. Toph stayed where she was, her forehead creased in a frown as she thought over what Orora had just revealed.

"I don't know Zuko as well as you or the other three do." She finally spoke, to which Orora hummed in agreement. She felt Toph shift where she stood, taking a few steps forward to stand next to her.

"But I've heard how powerful a bond can be between two Soulmates. I mean it was so powerful between Oma and Shu that they were able to learn earthbending, just so they could be together." Orora turned her head so she could look at Toph. "I mean sure, he died, but when they were alive, they always found their way back to each other, no matter how much the war forced them to stay apart."

The waterbender frowned. "What're you getting at Toph?" She asked, her curiosity peaking as Toph smiled in her direction. "I'm saying, what if Zuko finds his way back to you, just like Oma and Shu did?"

Stunned silence followed her words. Orora couldn't help but blink at Toph in surprise who was looking at her in a strangely hopeful manner. A flicker of.....something sparked in her heart, but she pushed it aside.

"I don't know Toph." She finally said with a shrug. "I doubt fate will be that kind to us." A sudden punch to her shoulder had the older girl frowning and rubbing the sore spot. Toph, who still held up her clenched fist, glared at her. "If a blind girl can find her soulmate during an all out war, then a girl who's soulmate left her once, can come back to her again."

Orora stood. "How can you be so sure?" She snapped, not wanting to get angry, but frustration did simmer just under her skin at the moment. The younger girl suddenly sobered and dropped her hand. "You've said so yourself that no matter what he did, his heart was always in the right place right?" She asked, to which Orora gave a small shrug. "I suppose so." She muttered.

Reaching out, Toph laid a hand on Orora's chest, right where her heart was. "So if his heart is with you, and you're in the right place, he'll come back to you. Its as simple as that."

Orora stared at Toph, her mouth open in shock and her ice blue eyes wide. The shorter girl shook her head. "Honestly, its amazing how people who have eyes can't even see whats so obvious. I guess its a good thing I'm blind."

So saying, the girl walked off, leaving behind a still stunned Orora who was decidedly ignoring the way her string was flickering red.

                                          ————————–

Zuko's mind was racing.

He knew his Uncle was the one to send him the scroll. But why? He hadn't gained any new information from what he had read. Other then the fact that his great-grandfather had been friends with Aang's predecessor. It was strange how two people who had been the best of friends, could turn against one another.

Or rather, Sozin had turned his back on Roku.

That part was what haunted him the most?.

Was it something that ran in the family? Betraying the people you called friends. He had done the same to Orora what Sozin had done to Roku.

Was that the point his Uncle had been trying to make?

No! He had said he needed to know about the death of his great-grandfather, yet Sozin had been alive in the end. His death had revealed nothing.

Frustration clawed at him from the inside as he marched into the prison tower and towards his Uncle's cell.

He just hoped the man would speak to him.

Slamming the door behind him as he entered, he held out the scroll that had the message on it. "You sent this, didn't you? I found the secret history, which by the way should be renamed history most people already know!" He yelled, allowing his frustration to seep into his words. "The note said that I needed to know about my great-grandfather's death, but he was still alive in the end."

Iroh looked up at Zuko, and for a moment he thought he wouldn't speak.

"No. He wasn't." Though the relief at hearing his Uncle finally speak to him warmed his heart, he pushed it aside in favor of the confusion that clouded his mind.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, as Iroh finally met his eye, and for once Zuko didn't feel the shame and guilt that burdened him since Ba Sing Se.

"You have more than one great-grandfather, Prince Zuko." Iroh revealed. "Sozin was your father's grandfather." He paused, preparing Zuko before he revealed the truth and reason behind all the conflict he felt all the time.

And really the next few words changed Zuko's outlook on life forever.

"Your mother's grandfather was Avatar Roku."

Shock raced through his veins, prompting him to drop the scroll he had been holding. His eyes widened, and his heart beat wildly against his chest. His knees felt weak, and yet it was a testament that he did not immediately drop down to the floor.

"Why are you telling me this?" He whispered hoarsely, his mind exploding with questions, each one burning at the tip of his tongue and yet he could voice none of them.

"Because understanding the struggle between your two great-grandfathers can help you better understand the battle within yourself." Finally, his legs gave way. Zuko dropped to the floor, his head hanging as every moment of confusion and conflict he had ever experienced his entire life rose to the forefront of his mind.

Everything.

Everything he had done, every decision he had ever made and everything that happened to him. It all came back to his family.

His father had banished him after burning him, making him the bitter person he had been for nearly three years.

His mother had left him, influencing him into accepting that he could never trust anyone with his heart.

His sister always lied, pushing him into believing that no one would help him and that he had to help himself.

And now, his great-grandfathers.

Sozin's ideas about sharing the wealth and prosperity of the Fire Nation with the rest of the world had blinded him to all the horrible atrocities the Fire Nation had committed over the past Hundred Years.

Roku's hesitancy on taking out his former best friend was what had led to the war in the first place. If he had thought of the world, rather then the relationship he had had with Sozin, maybe the war would never have started in the first place.

"Evil and good are always at war inside you, Zuko." His Uncle continued to speak, his words echoing against the cold stone walls of the prison. "It is your nature, your legacy."

Was this it?

Was he meant to feel utter anguish and turmoil for the rest of his life? Was he to know the difference between right and wrong but never be able to act upon it?

He had acted upon it once before, and had suffered the consequences.

Not because he was the Prince of the Fire Nation.

But because he was the son of Ozai.

"But, there is a bright side." His Uncle's voice prompted him to look back up, scarcely allowing an ember of hope to burn in his chest.

"What happened generations ago can be resolved now, by you." Iroh stated, his voice firm and stern. The time for gentleness was long past. It was time to show his nephew the utter reality and truth of the situation if he were to do something good for the world and save himself.

"Because of your legacy, you alone can cleanse the sins of our family and the Fire Nation. Born in you, along with all the strife, is the power to restore balance to the world." Iroh was aware how Avatar Aang was meant to do just that, but he had known, long ago, that the young airbender would not be able to do all of that alone. He had to see to the entire world, not just one Nation.

Restoring the honor of the Fire Nation would be up to Zuko and no one else.

He stood, moving to the wall at his side. Iroh pulled out a loose brick and reached for the object within that was wrapped in a frayed, dirty cloth. He removed it to reveal a headdress as he walked towards Zuko and held it out for him.

"This is a royal artifact. It is supposed to be worn by the Crown Prince." Zuko stood in awe of the artifact thought to be lost long ago. The headdress gleamed in the moonlight. "Sozin gave it to Roku as a token of their friendship long ago, but it became tainted, when Sozin betrayed Roku."

Zuko blinked, before closing his eyes and reaching into the pocket of his shirt and pulling out the comb he always carried with him these days to feel her close. Iroh's eyes widened at the sight of the familiar comb.

"I suppose these two share a history of betrayal don't they?" His nephew said, his voice hoarse and heavy with emotion as the two hairpieces were held aloft side by side.

Iroh's heart softened, and he knew Zuko regretted the decision he had made in Ba Sing Se. Perhaps, because of the bond he shared with Orora, it would push him to make the right decision. Placing the crown atop the comb, and closing Zuko's fingers around it, Iroh gave him a look of understanding.

"Then, it is up to you to make it right."

The small room glowed with a sudden blue hue that had been dim for most of the time. However, in that moment it glowed so brightly that if anyone else other then Zuko saw, they would believe the Moon Spirit herself had descended upon them.

However, it was only the string that connected him with his soulmate.

Glowing bright and blue as he finally, finally, realized the true extent of his feelings for Orora.

                                          ————————–

"You mean, after all Roku and Sozin went through together, even after Roku showed him mercy, Sozin betrayed him like that‌?" Katara's astonished voice cut the tense atmosphere once Aang had revealed what Roku had shown him.

Orora stood to the side, frowning. "All those years of friendship." She said in a low voice. "He just threw it away because he wanted to realize his own ambitions." Why did that sound so familiar? And yet, this was not the time to think about him, the young waterbender scolded herself, focusing instead on what Toph was saying.

"It's like some people are born bad." She said, sounding confused and sad at the same time. Aang stepped up, shaking his head as he did. "No, that's wrong." He insisted, walking so he could stand with his back to them to look out at the ocean. "I don't think that was the point of what Roku showed me at all." His voice sounded so hopeful and optimistic.

Sokka shrugged, ever the pessimist of the group cut in. "Then what was the point?" He asked, to which Aang turned back to look at them. He smiled at each one of them in turn before speaking.

"Roku was just as much Fire Nation as Sozin was, right? If anything, their story proves anyone's capable of great good and great evil." His grey eyes landed on Orora at that part, and she felt herself stand up straight, knowing he was thinking of Zuko the same way she was. She chewed on her lower lip, slowly looking away from Aang, who continued with a small smile of understanding.

"Everyone, even the Fire Lord and the Fire Nation have to be treated like they're worth giving a chance." Aang concluded with that ever-present hopeful note in his voice.

"And I also think it was about friendships." He added with a grin. That last part did warm Orora's heart a little bit, prompting her to smile at Katara when the other girl looked at her.

"Do you really think," Toph began, sounding unsure and hesitant as she did. "Friendships can last more than one lifetime?" She asked, and Orora had to stop herself from reaching out and hugging the younger girl.

Aang reached out to take Toph's hand. "I don't see why not." He said as Katara took Toph's other hand as well. Reaching out, Orora placed a gentle hand on Toph's shoulder. "Friends are the family we choose for ourselves Toph." She said before she moved to take Aang's free hand as he held it out for her with a smile. "And I don't know about you, but I don't plan on letting go of any of you in this life or any other."

Aang, Katara and Toph both smiled at her. Sokka, however, had something else to add.

"Well, scientifically speaking, there's no way to prove that-" He began, only to have his sister shoot him an annoyed look. "Oh, Sokka, just hold hands." She said, holding her hand out towards him. Without missing a beat, his hand grasped hers.

Orora gave a soft laugh as Aang turned towards her to wink playfully. And as they stood there, greeting the new day with a more hopeful outlook on everything, Orora closed her eyes and inhaled.

Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she could feel someone taking her other hand.

One that she was all too familiar with.

Considering she had held that hand many many times during her time with him.

For a moment her string glowed a warm red hue.

                                          ————————–

"People are starting to talk."

Zuko looked up from where he had been going over some new firebending forms he was mastering. Mai stood leaning against the doorway, a half smile playing about her lips.

"About what?" He asked, as she walked into the room, coming to sit opposite him. "That we're dating. Something about going out and walking into the same flower shop twice."

Zuko rolled his eyes. "Its just people gossiping nothing more. And its keeping Azula off both our backs, so I welcome it." He added, recalling how delighted his sister had seemed to be when she had spoken to him about it earlier that day. Mai hummed in agreement.

"True, my parents have also backed off." She pulled out a small knife from her sleeve, flicking it in the air and expertly catching it by the handle. "They were starting to look for marriage proposals for me, so dating you seems to be benefiting me as well."

Zuko followed her movement, his mind conjuring a sharp icicle rather then a knife as it twirled in the air. He had seen Orora do that very same move multiple times. Sometimes to practice, but most times out of sheer boredom.

"Have you been meeting with Kei Lo?" He asked, not wanting his thoughts to wander to Orora. Mostly because even the mere thought of her had his string glowing.

Zuko had met Mai's soulmate the first time he had gone to the flower shop. She had introduced him and Zuko had to admit, the boy seemed perfect for Mai. She needed someone to bring out the more softer and fun side of her, and Kei Lo was the right person to do it. Even the mere mention of him had a smile playing across Mai's lips as she nodded. "Yes, I met him just yesterday. My mother is starting to think I have taken an interest in flower arrangements, and my aunt is happy to keep my secret." She admitted.

Zuko smiled back, reaching out to gently pat her hand. "I'm glad you found him Mai." He said, his voice genuine. The girl nodded.

"What about you? Are you still seeing Orora?" The moment she spoke her name, his string began to glow blue. He ignored it in favor of responding to her question.

"Yeah, sometimes, every now and then." He admitted. Her appearances, where they had been quite frequent before, were now sporadic, not to mention she barely spoke in any of them.

He would never admit it out loud, but it was starting to scare him a little, how she was barely there whenever he would think of her.

As if he were forgetting what she looked like.

"Maybe you should go and find her?" Her suggestion had him staring at her wide eyed and dumbfounded. Mai only lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Obviously you miss her, so what harm could there be in going to look for her?" She made the suggestion so carelessly, as if she were commenting on the weather or something.

Zuko frowned. "I can't exactly go out and find her. For one I would need a legitimate reason to leave the Palace." He stood up, walking towards the window and looking out towards the setting sun. "Besides, I doubt she would want to see me after what I did to her." Behind him, Mai pursed her lips, nodding in agreement.

"True, but have you thought that maybe she misses you just as much as you miss her?" She stood, slowly coming to stand behind him, settling a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Trust me Zuko, it's never the right thing to run away or stay purposely away from your soulmate. It doesn't really work."

With that, she turned around and left Zuko to his thoughts.

It was strange. He had been so focused on how his betrayal had effected her, that it had never occurred to him that she would be missing him, just as much as he missed her.

Or perhaps more, he thought to himself, as his string glowed blue.

                                          ————————–

When she had left home, Orora had known she would have to leave several luxuries behind. One of them being shopping.

If there was one thing Orora loved more then anything it was shopping. In Ba Sing Se, she had always been the one to go out and buy whatever they needed. Iroh had been a little surprised at her enthusiasm, but he had not commented on it.

Traveling across the Fire Nation with Aang, Katara, Sokka and Toph meant that they rarely went shopping, if ever. What money they had, they needed for supplies, and many a time Orora had to walk away from a shiny trinket that would catch her eye. All because she didn't have money.

But now?

They had sacks of it.

Her, Sokka, Toph and Aang all but cackled as they exited the town, their arms laden with several purchases, as well as sacks of silver and gold. "Spirits! Why didn't we think of doing this earlier?" The older girl said, smiling from ear to ear as she eyed the meat they had been able to buy. They would be eating really good that night.

"Don't think of the Why Orora." Sokka said, happily carrying his share of shopping. "Think of the What," He trailed off as the other three looked at him, prompting him to continue. "As in, What are we going to spend all this money on?"

Another round of laughter followed his words as they finally reached their little camp, where they dumped their purchases in front of Katara who was cooking.

"Where did you guys get the money to buy all this stuff?" She asked, looking curiously into the baskets. Aang, grabbing an apple from one of the baskets, took a bit out of it and sat down. "Toph got us money." He said as a way of explanation. "She scammed one of those guys in town who moves the shells around all sneaky-like."

Orora grabbed an apple herself. "You should've seen the looks on their faces Katara. Hilarious." She praised as she passed by Sokka and gave him a high-five, before throwing the apple at Appa who caught it in his mouth with a happy groan.

Sokka nodded as he sat down. "She used earthbending to win the game! Classic!" He shot the bling girl a thumbs up, even as his sister adopted a disapproving look. "Ah, so she cheated."

Toph, who had been about to bite into her own apple, stopped. "Hey! I only cheated because he was cheating!" She grinned. "I cheated a cheater. What's wrong with that?"

Katara shook her head. "I'm just saying this isn't something we should make a habit of doing." She reprimanded as Orora dug into their purchase to grab something, only to extract Momo by the tail who had sneaked in when no one had been looking.

Toph scoffed. "Why?" As Orora took the many apples Momo had been trying to sneak off with, leaving the annoyed animal with just one. "Because it's fun? And you hate fun?"

The girl huffed. "I don't hate fun!" Catching Momo as he sulked away, she placed him on her head. "See? Fun!" An awkward silence followed as Momo slipped off her head, screeched at her before running away.

Aang, not wanting to see Katara worry about something so mediocre stood up and lifted his headband to reveal the tattoo below. "Katara." He spoke solemnly, bowing. "I'll personally make you an Avatar Promise that we won't make a habit of doing these scams."

Katara smiled in satisfaction before turning her attention to Orora. The older girl blinked back. "What?" Katara gave her a look, one that had Orora pursing her lips before finally letting out an exaggerated groan.

"Alright! Alright! I'll make sure they don't get too carried away." She promised halfheartedly before pulling out another apple and offering it to Katara as a peace offering.

Of course all their promises meant nothing to any of them.

The very next day, after a successful round of scamming, Orora was happily wandering the streets of the town to see what she could buy. Sokka, Toph and Aang were carrying out another scam, but Orora had wanted to shop.

Pocketing the winnings from the scam she had pulled with the younger girl, she walked around in search of a good clothing shop. With the Invasion drawing near, she wanted to make something for herself. She had no desire to defeat the Fire Nation wearing their colors.

Besides, she missed wearing blue.

Though her chances were slim, maybe she would be able to find something?

She passed through the center of the town, and the sight that greeted her, had her coming to an abrupt halt.

There in the middle of the town stood a tall statue of the current Fire Lord. Orora stood there, staring up at him. Pure hatred raged in her heart as she looked at the likeness. This was the man who had burned Zuko. Who had stood over a young boy, a boy trying to do good, and mercilessly burned half his face off.

"Hey Orora!" Aang's voice barely registered in her mind as she stood where she was. The young Avatar raced to her side, his own gaze lifting towards the all too daunting presence of the statue.

"Its strange to finally put a face to the name, isn't it?" Aang said as he stood beside her. Not breaking her stare, she spoke to him. 'How do you mean?"

Aang shrugged. "Well we've all heard about Fire Lord Ozai for months, and I had no idea what he looked like till I went to school." She nodded. "Yeah, but now we have someone to picture when we talk of him." A brief pause before Aang spoke again. "He was the one who gave Zuko the scar right?" She had told them briefly about how Zuko had gotten the scar, but hadn't gone into the details. His words prompted her to tense up, her hands clenching in fists at her sides as she gritted her teeth. Anger ran through her veins as she turned on her heel and began to walk away. Aang followed after her.

"Hey! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you!" The worry in his tone was what prompted her to finally halt and turn to him with a reassuring look. "You didn't Aang. I'm just angry at him for what he did to Zuko." Her gaze flickered to her string. "Which is strange because why should I be angry about what happened to him after what he did to me?" Aang's features morphed to an understanding yet sympathetic look as he took the older girl's hand in an effort to comfort her.

"Maybe because your feelings for him go a little more deeper then you realized." His statement had her frowning slightly, before she sighed and shook her head. "Well whatever the reason, I don't have time to think of him right now."

Forcing her thoughts to steer away from Zuko she instead smiled at Aang. "Come on! Help me find a fabric shop! I need to buy something!" Since they were still holding hands, she quickly led him away down the street in search of the aforementioned shop.

Leaving behind the statue of the man she hated.

Pushing aside the fact that her string had glowed red the entire time she had spoken with Aang, only disappearing when she finally entered the shop and began to browse the fabric, looking for the color she needed.

                                          ————————–

He had no idea what he was preparing for. During his training, he worked ten times harder. Be it perfecting his firebending forms, or practicing with his swords. His appetite had returned since he came back from Ember Island, resulting in him having more energy then he previously had.

While he did focus on the political part of his studies, he was no more interested in all the colonies the Fire Nation had created over the past hundred years. Not to mention the devastation caused.

The librarian had been a little surprised when Zuko had asked for those specific records, but everything was given to him because he was the Prince after all.

Everything the Fire Nation had done.

Every act of violence.

The number of people they had killed, not counting the entire Nation they had wiped out.

The resources that were being sent to the armies rather then being used by the general public.

The many many machines of war that had been created to support their so called cause.

The taxes imposed on the people to pay for the war.

The law stating every member of the family were to send two children to the front of the lines.

Nothing in all his findings told him anything about the Fire Nation actually contributing to the betterment of the world.

All they had done was take and leave nothing behind.

He remembered the time he had spent in the Earth Kingdom. All those people he had met on his journey. How in one way or another, every single one of them were effected by the Fire Nation.

The thousands of families displaced by the war.

The hundreds of families leaving behind their homes because it was no longer safe.

The children who had been orphaned.

The parents who had lost their children.

Soulmates who had lost their other half.

Uncle had lost his son.

Lu Ten had lost his life.

Aang lost his entire people.

Katara and Sokka lost their mother.

Song was scarred just like he was.

Lee had lost his brother.

Orora had almost been killed.

And so many countless others.

And all of them, had one thing in common.

They all hated the Fire Nation. No one respected them. They all feared and hated him and his people.

He hadn't helped in that belief by chasing Aang and his friends around the world. And then he had gone and betrayed Orora. Then he had sent that assassin after them.

Maybe Mai was right.

Maybe he did need to go out and find her. Tell her that he was beginning to think that the decision he had made in Ba Sing Se was the wrong one.

But how could he leave?

He couldn't just up and go, that would raise suspicion, and his father might send someone after him.

As he lay there with his hand held aloft so he could look at his glowing string, Zuko came to a decision.

The first chance he got, he would leave everything, find Orora, and join the people working against the Fire Nation to put a stop to it's tyrannical rule.

Once and for all.

                                          ————————–

Their escape from the newly named Combustion Man was a close call.

Too close.

In fact, it had put all of them on edge, and they'd taken to flying as far away from that town as possible.

In hindsight, maybe she should've discouraged them from telling scary stories as a way to unwind after their most stressful encounter yet. Orora had to admit, the place they had decided to make camp was spookier then any place they had spent the night at. Or maybe it was just her imagination, she mused to herself as they all sat around the fire.

"Water Tribe slumber parties must stink." Toph stated when one of Sokka's scary stories was not well-received. "I've never been to one, so I can't be the judge of that." The older girl put in her two thoughts, adding another dried stick to the fire the burned between them.

"No, wait! I've got one!" Katara spoke up from where she sat. "And this is a true Southern Water Tribe story."

Sokka rolled his eyes, not believing his sister. "Is this one of those 'a friend of my cousin knew some guy that this happened to' stories?" He said in a sarcastic tone, to which Katara shook her head.

"No, it happened to Mom." Upon hearing that, Sokka stiffened and everyone stopped moving as they sat in utter stillness, waiting for Katara to begin her story.

"One winter when Mom was a girl," She began, her voice low and soft. "A snowstorm buried the whole village for weeks. A month later, Mom noticed she hadn't seen her friend Nini since the storm. So Mom and some others went to check on Nini's family. When they got there, no one was home." A shiver ran down Orora's spine, her arms came to wrap around her legs as she hugged herself, eyes wide as she stared at Katara.

"Just a fire flickering in the fireplace. While the men went out to search, Mom stayed in the house. When she was alone, she heard a voice. 'It's so cold and I can't get warm!'" Sokka stiffened with fear, and even Toph gulped nervously where she sat. "Mom turned and saw Nini standing by the fire. She was blue like she was frozen. Mom ran outside for help, but when everyone came back, Nini was gone."

Aang used Momo's ears to cover his face in fear, while Orora quickly shifted to sit beside Toph, who didn't hesitate in grabbing her hand as they huddled together. Sokka, who had taken to hiding behind a gnarled tree stump peaked out. "Where'd she go?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Katara shook her head. "No one knows. Nini's house stands empty to this day, but sometimes, people see smoke coming up from the chimney, like little Nini is still trying to get warm." Orora glanced over her shoulder, as if she expected Nini to be standing right there behind her.

Suddenly Toph straightened up, placing her hand on the ground. "Wait! Guys, did you hear that?" Her movement was so sudden that Orora let out a broken shriek, while Aang, Katara and Sokka clutched at one another, staring around in fear.

"I hear people under the mountain. And they're screaming." Orora blinked. "Wh-what?" She gulped, ice blue eyes wide in fear as she stared around their small camp. Sokka, assuming Toph was just joking relaxed his grip around his sister and scoffed.

"Pfft! Nice try." Toph shook her head, her hand still pressed to the ground. "No, I'm serious. I hear something." She insisted, as Orora shifted to quickly sit beside Aang who was still hugging Katara. "Toph, cut it out. You're scaring everyone." She insisted, though even her voice sounded small and meek to her own ears.

A horde of physical enemies she could face any day, but spooky stories? That was a weakness her brothers had exploited when she had been younger.

"You're probably just jumpy from the ghost stories." Katara insisted, glancing at Aang and Orora in worry, who were both huddled together.

Toph frowned. "It just ... stopped." Aang gulped, clutching on to both Katara and Orora. "All right, now I'm getting scared."

Suddenly a voice called out through the darkness, soft and gentle. "Hello, children."

The camp rang loudly with the screams of said children as they scrambled around trying to find a place to hide. But then they all stopped when they saw what, or rather who had emerged from the shadows.

An elderly woman.

An elderly woman who turned out to be a Southern Water Tribe waterbender named Hama. Who told them all about what had happened during the Fire Nation raids, and how she had escaped them before hiding here.

It was all sad and heartbreaking, and yet, perhaps it was the scary stories still floating around in her mind, or perhaps it was her older sister instinct, or the fact that they were being hunted.

But somehow, Orora didn't trust Hama.

All because the old woman seemed to watch Katara's every move with a greedy, almost hungry, look on her face when she didn't think anyone was looking.

But Orora was.

Orora was always looking.

Always looking out for her family.

Which was why the night Hama told everyone what had happened to her, Orora pulled Sokka away from the rest of the dinner party to speak with him.

"Aww come on Orora! I was just going in for seconds!' He whined as she shut the door behind them and stepped outside in the night. She gave him a look that had him frowning. "Whats up?"

No sooner had he voiced his question before she spoke, making sure she kept her voice down. "Its just...." She wrapped her arms around herself, eyes looking around nervously. "I don't know something about this place and Hama makes me feel uneasy." She revealed to which Sokka nodded. "Well the stories of people disappearing certainly doesn't help." He added, to which Orora simply nodded.

Reaching out he gave her a comforting pat on the back. "Look, we're just gonna solve this mystery, then be on our way. Don't worry, we'll all be on our guard. And remember what Aang said, not everyone we run into is bad or out to get us." When she gave him an unconvincing look he sighed.

"Look, I get you would be nervous when it comes to trusting people, but you have all of us watching your back and each other's, so really there's no need to worry." And though Sokka's words did bring her some comfort, Orora still remained alert, not wanting to be caught off guard.

Of course, that amounted to nothing when the very next morning, Hama asked to see her under the pretense of having her get something from the market, only to knock her out from behind and drag her away into the forest.

Orora woke just as Hama was tying her wrists and feet to keep her from running away. Still groggy from the hit to the back of her head, which was still hurting, Orora was barely aware of where she was as she watched the old crone go about securing her.

"You know, when the first raid happened, we sent a message to our sister Nation, begging for help. To send reinforcements." Hama spoke once she was satisfied with her bonds. A filthy rag was wrapped around her mouth to keep her from screaming. Despite the pain, the young waterbender was able to glare fiercely at Hama, anger burning in her ice blue eyes.

"Of course being so far away, they couldn't send help in time. But my brothers and sisters did hold out during our first few months in our cells. Thinking that perhaps our Northern brothers and sisters would come to rescue us." She turned her hateful gaze towards the young girl, who glared right back.

"However, with every full moon that passed, we realized that no help was coming. And whatever hope we had of escaping slowly died. And though I realize you are not directly responsible for your forefathers actions." The old crone leaned down right in Orora's face as she smiled coldly at her. "Holding you accountable is the next best thing."

Orora felt herself grow cold, her mind racing with all the possibilities that Hama would carry out on her out of the anger and hatred that had festered in her for so long.

Running her long bony fingers through the white patch of her hair in a condescending manner, Hama hummed as she smiled. "Now, why don't you wait here while I have a one-on-one lesson with your friend Katara."

Her fear for Katara triumphed her own own fear. She tried her best struggling and thrashing to get away, but Hama was strong, stronger then she looked. Pulling on the rope, she was able to tie Orora to a tree, tight and secure her there.

"I'll be back for you." She promised, before walking off, leaving the girl to struggle and call out into the wind, her voice muffled and barely audible.

The entire day she pulled and thrashed, trying to free herself. Her wrists began to ache and she knew she had split the skin from where the ropes burned against her. Even her ankles burned, and her throat ached from screaming.

All that for nothing.

Finally, during mid afternoon, she gave up. Her head hung to the side as she began to doze off, the occurrences of the day getting to her. Tears of frustration burned her eyes at every waking interval, as she cursed her own stupidity, and for not listening to her instincts.

She was worried.

Worried for her friends. But especially for Katara.

What would Hama do to her?

All day long, the questions and scenarios plagued her mind. Slowly, the sun set and the sounds of the night roused her from her half-asleep stupor. The bright light from the moon shone down on her, prompting her to inhale deeply, taking in the strength it provided her with. Her tired body gained a little strength, though the back of her head still stung from where she had been hit.

Suddenly, she heard voices.

Her ears pricked up and she focused on the voices that approached her.

Hama and Katara.

Instantly she began to squirm and pull at her restraints. She could feel the dried blood on her wrists split as fresh blood oozed out.

"And to make sure, you learn what I have to teach you, I brought a little incentive."

Suddenly Hama appeared in her view, making her recoil in fright. The old woman worked quickly, untying her from the tree and pulling her towards the clearing where Katara was standing.

"Orora!" Katara's shocked voice cut through the night, echoing the clearing as the older girl lay battered and bruised at the old woman's feet. "What have you done to her? Let her go!" She demanded, stepping forward, to which Hama held up a placating hand.

"What I'm about to show you." Hama began, glaring down at Orora in a menacing manner before turning her attention back to Katara. "I discovered in that wretched Fire Nation prison."

Orora only caught snippets of the story, trying hard not to pass out from the pain that radiated from her head. It was so difficult to focus when all she could pay attention to was the stricken look on Katara's face. But she did manage to catch the important parts of the story.

Hama had created a new sub-form of waterbending.

One that allowed her to control the water within any living creature.

Bloodbending, she called it.

"Once you perfect this technique, you can control anything or anyone." Hama continued, her gaze dropping to Orora who tried her best to glare back at her.

Katara shook her head. "But..... to reach inside someone and control them? I don't know if I want that kind of power." She said, casting a worried look in Orora's direction.

Hama shook her head. "The choice is not yours. The power exists. And it's your duty to use the gifts you've been given to win this war." she urged, before appealing to Katara's kind nature. "Katara, they tried to wipe us out, our entire culture, your mother!"

Katara closed her eyes, thinking of her mother. "I know." She whispered.

"And our sister Tribe did nothing to help." Hama added, glaring down at Orora. "You should understand what I'm talking about! We're the last two waterbenders of the Southern Tribe. We have to fight these people whenever we can, wherever they are, with any means necessary!" She concluded, that scary, desperate and mad gleam coming to her eyes once more.

Katara's eyes widened in shock. "It's you! You're the one who's been making people disappear during the full moons!" Her gaze flickered to Orora. "Let Orora go! Now!"

In response, Hama simply growled. "They threw me in prison to rot, along with my brothers and sisters! And her people did nothing to help! They all deserve the same! You must carry on my work!"

The younger waterbender shook her head, pointing at Hama. "I won't!" Pride swelled in Orora as she watched her friend stand up for what was right. "I won't use bloodbending and I won't allow you to keep terrorizing this town!"

Suddenly Orora felt her entire body freeze up. A horrified gasp was muffled by the cloth around her mouth as she felt her entire body lift from the ground, the bonds fell from around her wrists and ankles as her arms and legs contorting in unnatural angles, her head falling to the side.

Her eyes widened in horror, as she tried, but failed, to move her limbs.

"You should've learned the technique before you turned against me!" Hama's voice came, snapping her out of her terrified state. Her eyes were all that she could control as they darted around, trying to see what was going on, and to escape. "It's impossible to fight your way out of my grip! I control every muscle, every vein in your body!"

With swift motions of her hands and arms, Hama used bloodbending to bring them both side by side before beginning to throw them around. The first swing had Orora crashing through branches, the sharp edges scratching her skin as she went. Somehow, her rag loosened from around her mouth, allowing her cries of pain to echo all around her.

Hama slammed her onto the ground, making her hit her head. She paused briefly with Katara, as turned her attention on Orora instead. "I'll deal with you later." She hissed, before throwing the girl to the side. Her helpless body slammed against a tree trunk, which shuddered from the impact.

The hit was enough for her to drop to the floor and for her vision to go black.

Orora's ears rang with the sound of Katara pleading and crying for Hama to stop, before everything went black.

She roused to someone shaking her shoulder.

Ice blue eyes snapped open. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she sat up, arms held aloft and at the ready to defend herself. Only to be greeted by the sight of Sokka leaning over her with a worried look. He'd barely opened his mouth to say something when something or rather someone over his eye caught her attention.

Katara.

Sobbing hysterically as Aang held her.

Her entire body screamed with pain, and yet she pushed past Sokka, barely noticing the various cuts and bruises her whole body supported. Aang pulled back a little from his embrace, looking at Orora in a helpless manner. The older girl wasted no time.

She wrapped her arms around the younger girl in a fierce and protective embrace, holding her close. Katara, realizing who was holding her, began to cry anew, burying her face in Orora's chest, her entire body shaking with each sob that wrecked through her. Orora could feel her own emotions welling to the surface, prompting tears to silently cascade down her cheeks as she held and did her best to comfort her sister.

It took awhile for them both to calm down, but once they were, they didn't waste any time climbing atop Appa and flying away into the night.

Katara sat next to her brother, leaning against him for support. Aang sat on Appa's head, though every now and then he would glance back at his soulmate in worry. Toph sat next to Orora who had Momo in her lap. "You should heal yourself." Toph spoke softly, reaching out to place her water satchel in her hands. The girl gave a nod, pulling out the water and healing the injury to the back of her head, the open wounds on her wrists and around her ankles, as well as the various cuts that littered her any skin that wasn't covered in fabric.

It was a little slow work, since her limbs felt stiff. Not to mention her whole body ached. From being thrown against a tree or because Hama controlled her entire body. She didn't know. It was a truly terrifying experience. Not being able to control her actions and being at the mercy of a mad woman.

Once done, she threw the water to the side since it was mixed with blood and dirt.

Her mind was still heavy with all that she had endured, but nothing could compare to what Katara was feeling. She pursed her lips as she stared worriedly at the younger girl. Her gaze met Sokka's who shared in her worry.

Walking on her knees, she was able to catch Aang's attention, who came to sit on Katara's other side. Guiding Toph to sit beside her, with Aang on her right side, Orora reached out and took Katara's hands.

"I think we've shared enough scary stories." Everyone, minus Katara, gave weak smiles at her attempt to make a joke. "We could all do with something a little more brighter and happier." Katara raised her red-rimmed eyes at her, her usually bright blue eyes looking so dull and hopeless that it broke her own heart. "So I'm going to recite this poem I love, about two soulmates, and the love they had for one another. Sound good?"

When no objection came, she nodded. Closing her eyes briefly, she cleared her throat and began to speak.

Her voice was soft and gentle, the words hopeful and full of love. So unlike everything they had faced in the past few days. Maybe it was the poem or maybe it was the fact that they were all together, and they were safe.

Whatever it was, it helped.

And slowly, gradually, eventually, the darkness around them began to lift.

                                          ————————–

He was dreaming.

It had been a long while since he had dreamed.

Or rather dreamed of her.

And yet, there she was, standing there with his back to him, staring out at the open ocean that gleamed under the light of the full moon.

He slowly walked up to her, unable to hesitate or even think it through. Why? Because he wanted to be near her. He wanted to see her face. In that moment nothing else mattered. Not the beautiful scenery or that this was all in his head.

He just missed her so much.

Once he reached her, he was surprised to see that she was crying. Her eyes were closed, and tears were sliding down her cheeks, every tear gleaming like a diamond against her beautiful skin.

Where he had been unable to approach her when she had appeared to him crying once before, this time Zuko didn't even think about what he had to do.

He reached up, cupping her face, prompting her to open her eyes and look at him.

Sorrowful blue met gentle warm amber.

His thumb wiped at a tear that escaped her gorgeous eyes. Call it wishful thinking, but maybe she leaned into his touch a little, as if drawing comfort from him. His head leaned down, pressing their forehead together, their noses brushing.

This was all a dream. Zuko knew that.

So then why did it all feel so real?

"I'll come back to you." He whispered, prompting her to open her eyes and look at him, the surprise clear across her features. "I promise." So saying, he shifted so his lips could press against the middle of her forehead in a tender kiss. Orora closed her eyes again, relishing in his presence, one that she had so sorely missed and yet had never admitted to herself that she did.

He pulled back, but only to hold up the finger that had his string tied around it. Of course, if was glowing a bright blue. Orora's eyes widened, and he knew she saw the color. Slowly, she lifted her own finger, showing the red hue that gleamed there, warm and bright. Zuko couldn't help the breathless laugh of happiness that escaped his lips. The sound prompted a smile to form on Orora's lips as she allowed their fingers to intertwine, allowing whatever length was left between their strings to completely disappear. Their gazes met.

"I'll be waiting."

                                          ————————–

When she awoke, there was a warmth on her forehead where Zuko had kissed her. Her string glowed a bright red through the day.

                                          ————————–

When he awoke, there was a warmth in his heart and a lightness to his soul. His string glowed a bright blue throughout the day.

                                          ————————–

And it scared her.

                                          ————————–

And it gave him strength.

                                           ————————–

Tag List - @wavesofchaos​ @violet-potter​ @rennysketch​ @emma-andrea1 @lovesammikinzz @fuzzyfestcat @msrawog @notsaelty @lust-for-pan @aces-tattooartist @jinxxangel13 @lotr-got @bitterspoons @realrintaro @gatorgirl151 @inutheangel @heartfully10 @lucaaahhh @juniper-july19 @anuttellaa @gfksz @bussyvussy @punksnotdeadbutiam @ablofftoneverland-blog-blog @slut-for-menn @vyliie @army-moa75 @juwhls @aqlodun @lovelybaka

[mayasdeluca]

I wanted to share this thread from Twitter on here because I feel it's so important and sums up how I feel so accurately. Credit to Blue for putting it into words better than I could.

We're two episodes in and while they may not seem like a lot and there's still plenty more to go, it's really not when you consider it's a shortened season and there's so many things the show is trying to fit in when it can be the last of the series. I want to hope our time is coming but like Blue said, this has always been a pattern. There has been constant excuses for Maya and Carina. Why? Why is it always them that's treated differently? We know why. And the fact that the show got moved to 10pm, where they can show more and do more, and the network actually had the audacity to use Marina as the promo when saying the season will be 'hotter than ever' every single time and yet we're still experiencing the same tiresome treatment? I really hope I will be able to eat my words later on in the season but it's hard to feel that way at this point. The double standards are insanely frustrating.

Why this show has forever chosen to shy away from Maya and Carina as the ship of the show when they caught lightning in a bottle with these characters and the actresses who portray them will truly never make sense to me. They can come up with any kind of excuse, it's not justified. They can try to write ships like Ross and Sullivan as this epic romance (when in reality they have been established for five minutes in comparison to Marina) and they can give them cheesy dialogue and all the sex scenes in the world that they refuse to give to Marina...it doesn't make them anything like them and it will just continue to show the glaring double standard that continues to be a huge problem on network tv. WLW couples deserve better.

[usmsgutterson]

We Could Leave The Christmas Lights Up Til January - S.R x reader

I am typing this authors note and feeling like the friend who's like "ITS CHRISTMAS" from the like. middle of the month forward when I'm actually the friend who reminds you how close it is to christmas or the new year bc I don't want to face that knowledge by myself and suffer well with others.

This was written as a through-the-years style fic. It'll have fifteen chapters which will correspond with the og fifteen seasons of criminal minds (I have not watched seasons sixteen or seventeen, please do not judge me lol) and three scenes per chapter, one set in November, one set on or around Christmas, and the last set at some point after it. The reader is also a fiber artist but if stuff relating to that comes up, I will make a note of whichever terms I need to.

Fic type - this is largely fluff!

Warnings - the reader in this has a slightly similar, but also somewhat dramatized version of my family dynamics bc I wrote this whenever the knit projects I was working on frustrated me and when writing the dynamics it just HAPPENED, but then I edited it so that the dynamics wouldn't hit SUPER HARD if I ever reread it. Otherwise, booze is mentioned a bit, and there is swearing present bc I apparently am incapable of writing a fic without dropping an f'bomb.

When you leave the office that night, it's half-past seven on a Friday in November. You and the rest of the team have the weekend off, and while Penelope and the others had gone out for drinks, you'd gotten back from a case in Miami that morning and had said no to the offer when she'd made it.

You had really just wanted to get home, if you were being honest. You told her you couldn't swing it because of plans already made with someone else, but Garcia didn't need to know that those plans were a glass of wine, Loops 'N Threads Classic Cotton and a crochet hook to work up some dishcloths in lieu of anything too expensive for your aunts christmas gift, or that the someone else you had plans with was your DVR so that you could catch up on the five episodes of Prison Break you'd missed because of the way that cases and work had been piling up.

She also didn't need to know that the wine your mother had given you would have a spot, or that after you were caught up with Prison Break you'd probably order and eat your way through an entire pizza from Antonios while watching a documentary about lemon sharks. Your Friday nights were your own, and even though you adored everyone on the team, you would seldom give up your Friday night ritual of doing a craft while watching whichever cable TV you needed to catch up on or whichever one the network of your choice had been running a marathon of, even if giving it up meant giving up dinner, drinks, and laughter amongst yourself and the rest of the team.

So, as you and Spencer are heading out—Spencer had declined Penelopes offer but hadn't specified his reasons as to why—he looks at you with a knowing sort of smile.

"Crocheting and Antonios?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

You nod once, lips pursing just a little while you mentally ready yourself for any oncoming judgement. "Mhm," you nod. "I have a bottle of red I wanna drink, so it'll be a tipsy crocheting night, I think."

"That sounds fun," he says. "Enjoy it."

"What're your plans for the night?" You ask. You've been with the team since six months after Spencer had joined up. You'd joined, under Hotch's wing, at the age of nineteen where Spencer had joined up under Gideons when he was twenty.

He shrugs. "I was thinking about calling my mom, seeing how she's doing," he says. "I try to call her at least once every so often and I do my best to write, but—it's just—"

"Maintaining those kinds of relationships isn't that easy," you nod. "I mean—my parents just live in my hometown so the circumstances are different, but I get it, even if it's to a lesser degree."

You don't really talk to your parents, and they don't really talk to you, and it's been that way since you went to the FBI Academy when you were eighteen. You came to DC after being hired by the BAU and they stayed in Maine, and things have been like that in the five years since you left the state.

"Your mom came around recently, right?"

You nod. "She was in town for a bit, but she came down while we were working on a case so I only got to see her a few times before she was heading back to Maine." She'd come up at the start of October, while you were working a case out of state, and she'd left six days after you'd returned from the case. In that time, you'd seen her at breakfast, lunch and dinner on three separate days. She'd left you the wine as a gift because she hated red and needed to pass it off, but you loved red wine so it was fine.

"Was it a good visit?"

"It was—well—it was fine," you laugh.

"That's the nicest way to put it?"

"Calling it fine is me being stellar," you laugh again. "Being kind, being gratiuitous, even. It was less than fine, but it could've been worse, and other visits of hers have been by miles."

Your relationship with your mother has been somewhat contentious since you were a teen, but she comes down once every few months and unless a case or something better comes up, you usually try to book Christmas off to spend it with your parents and sisters in Maine. This year, a bigger part of you than not is hoping that Christmas is disrupted by a case somewhere completely out of Maines reach, like Nevada or California or even the likes of Alaska, which has got to be some snowy hellstorm in the wintertime, though you can't say.

"You gonna go down for Christmas?" Spencer asks, laughing a little. He knows some of what your relationships with your family are like—knows that you and your mother have a difficult time finding common ground, knows that you and your father don't get along but have found some weird little middleground where you can exist without screaming at each other. He knows that you and your older sister are sort of friendly but only really mildly close, and that you and your other older sister don't talk often and see each other even less than the sparing conversations you have throughout the year—and he always looks at you kind of pitifully when your mother gets brought into the conversation, but there's been less and less pity as the years have passed, more sympathy.

"I don't want to," you laugh. "I really, really hope we get a case in Nevada or somewhere that even my mother wouldn't be able to justify asking me to drive down to Maine from. Like—I'd love it if we got a case in Alaska the day before Christmas Eve, honestly. I know it's not gonna happen, but—Christmas with them, my aunt, and my uncle? No. I can't subject myself to that without a whole lot of booze."

Spencer laughs, shakes his head a little bit. "You'll be fine," he says. "I won't hope that a case comes up at Christmas, but if one does, I'll buy you a victory tea."

"Why?"

"Because I know you love your family—you're hardwired to love them—but you hate Christmas with them, and I don't really like the thought of you being where you don't want to be because of family ties and guilt."

You laugh. "If it gets too dreary, promise you'll answer my call?"

"Yeah," Spencer nods. "Of course, but what if I call you first?"

"I will answer so quick," you laugh again, shrugging. "Seriously. Whether it's you or Hotch, I will take literally any excuse I can get to slip out from whichever room I'm in to the back porch just so I can talk to someone who isn't my aunt for a few minutes."

"Looking forward to that," Spencer says.

You smile, turning away as you do to hide it. It feels like an awesome ending to a mediocre day and you're grateful for that.

-

When your phone rings at five o'clock something along the lines of five weeks later, it's Christmas Eve. You've spent the last couple of hours alternating between cheap screw top rose and a jack and coke, occasionally swapping both options out for a hot chocolate that you spike with kahlua and a splash of baileys, and when your phone rings, the sound of it is a welcome reprieve.

You tuck a mug of boozed up hot cocoa into your right hand, answering the phone with your left as you dismiss yourself out to the back porch, standing amidst snow that's, by that point, a couple days old. A fresh coat is due to fall any day now, but by the time it does you'll probably already be back in DC.

"Hey," you greet. "How's Christmas on your end?"

"It's good," Spencer answers. "How is it on yours?"

"It's amazing."

"You've been drinking?"

"Jack Daniels, cheap rose, and the occasional spiked hot chocolate," you laugh a little. "It's making everyone more tolerable."

"Thats good," Spencer says. "Don't forget to drink water, though. It'll make you less hungover tomorrow morning."

"Yeah," you nod. "I've drank plenty of water—hangover headaches are fuckin' awful, and I don't feel like dealing with that tomorrow morning. A headache on top of dealing with my aunt? I couldn't put myself through that kind of torture."

"How've things been with you and your mom?"

"So far I haven't done anything to piss her off yet, which is surprising," you laugh. "Normally she's leaping down my throat the second I do something like use a tone that she thinks is amiss or defend my dad where she doesn't agree with him. I'll say something stupid and she'll yell at me before midnight though, I'm sure."

"Try to be a little optimistic," Spencer says. "I mean—just—take it easy. Don't do anything too nuts, okay? I know you well enough to know you have Prison Break on one of the DVRs in that house, and I also know that you know your own limits. Don't push yourself past them."

"I won't," you say. You know yourself well enough to know that you're probably lying, but you brought your needles and a skein of yarn so worst case you can just knit and keep your mouth shut, hopefully not miscounting any of your stitches in your drunken state. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I get in around ten on boxing day too, so—coffee?"

"Coffee," Spencer says. "Merry Christmas, Y/N."

"Merry Christmas, Spencer," you respond, hanging up the phone thereafter. You stay outside for another few minutes, drinking your hot chocolate, watching the sky and prolonging the time between then and your next interactions with your relatives.

Eventually, when you go back in, you're met with a sly look from your aunt and a suspicious look in your mothers eyes, while your father and uncle chat about current events and your sisters are busy in a game of Uno.

"You got a boyfriend?" Your aunt asks, her smile cheeky.

You grimace. "No!" You say, beelining for the kitchen and the bottle of Barefoot brand zinfandel. "No—it's—it isn't like that. A friend had planned to call and I didn't say no."

"Oooh, a friend," your mother teases. "That's quite vague, Y/N."

You nod, finishing the last sip of hot chocolate in your mug and rinsing it out, setting it in your favored corner of the kitchen counter and reaching for the wine glass you'd left in that same area.

"Intentionally so," you laugh. "You two are so nosy. I love you both to bits and pieces, but—it's not anything like what you're thinking. The friend is a coworker."

You reach for the bottle of zinfandel and pour an amount that just barely skirts the edge of avoiding being obscene, putting the cap back on and leaving it on the counter along with the rest of the alcoholic companions that will reside on the countertop until at some point tomorrow, when the drinks are switched out from booze and beer to soda and water.

"You two will be an item in five years, I guarantee it," your aunt says. "Seriously. You don't be vague about someone with your family unless there are feelings there, Y/N."

You laugh a little more, taking a sip of your wine and debating rummaging through the fridge to find the brownies that you'd hidden in the back of the fridge for when the drunken cravings kicked in.

"I've been vague with you people about women coworkers," you retort. "I've been vague about mentors who are older than Dad. I'm vague about lots of things."

"You should open up," your uncle says. "Nobody likes a closed off little snowflake who wants to appear mysterious."

"Trust is earned," the older of your two sisters retorts. "You have to trust people to want to open up to them."

"Do you not trust us?" Your mother asks, looking at you with pain in her eyes.

Not like I did when I was a kid, you think. "I do! I just—work life and family life are two separate things to me. If I were as open as you guys want me to be, telling you work stories and funny office anecdotes, you'd all want to hear less about my job."

"Being an FBI agent can't be that hard," your uncle retorts.

"You say that as a man who's never watched someone you love like a sibling get shot at," you retort. "You've never seen someones body missing parts, or seen someone who narrowly evaded a serial killer shaking with grief and with survivors guilt already starting to manifest. I love you all, but not one of you understands what it's like, and I wouldn't wish you did across a thousand lifetimes."

Nobody knows what to say, but the look in your eldest sisters eyes is clear—she's proud.

"Well maybe you should work in a different area," your aunt says.

"I wouldn't trade my job or my coworkers for anything," you respond. "The plus sides make up for the drawbacks tenfold."

Things go a little quiet after that, and you eventually grab the bottle of Zinfandel and retreat back out to the back porch, not caring how cold it is.

You stare at the sky for ages, drinking your way through the entire bottle of zinfandel as you do. You're half asleep when your phone rings again, and you pick it up as you make back inside, figuring the rest of your family had gone to bed as well.

"Hey," Spencer greets. "Just calling to check in again."

"Hi," you respond. "Everyone else has gone to sleep, I think—nobody is in the kitchen or the living room, and if I don't hit the hay I'll be dead on my feet tomorrow morning."

"Do you have any sports drinks around?" Spencer asks. "The elctrolytes in them will help replenish the potassium and the salt that you lose after a lot of drinking. Bouillion soup also serves the same purpose, and water is basically universally known as the one thing you should consistently drink between alcoholic beverages."

"My mother gets a twelve pack of the fruit punch Gatorade, puts it in the fridge and normally will make the drunkest of us chug a bottle before we conk out, so I'm gonna grab one and then chug it and head to bed. Thank you for calling to check in, Spencer. It means a lot."

You head for the fridge and keep to your word, opening it and grabbing one of the gatorades.

"It's no problem," Spencer says. "I've know you—how long now?"

"Four entire years," you laugh, closing the fridge and pressing your forehead against the metal door of the freezer on top of it. "Oh, God. Four years of working at the BAU. That is a surefire way to make me feel old."

"How old do you think you'll feel when you've been working there for a decade?"

"Absolutely, positively, ancient," you say. "Oh my God—thirty three? That is not an age I can picture. Asking me to picture that while I'm drunk feels like such a low blow, Reid."

"How about twenty-eight?"

"I'm starting to think you just like the sound of my voice," you retort, laughing a little as you compose yourself just enough to turn your phone onto speaker and set it on the counter. You lean against the counter and take the screw top off of your gatorade, sighing a little. "Are you asking me if I have a five year plan, Dr. Reid?"

"Yeah," he says. "Yes is the answer to both your statement and your question."

"Well, in five years, I'll be twenty-eight," you start. "I'd like it very much if I were still on the team, and if I am, that means nine years at the BAU. I'm going to get better at knitting and finally stop knitting things for people who don't offer to buy the yarn or otherwise compensate, I think. I make things free for ungrateful people too often. Maybe even adopt a kitten or take in a shelter dog. Fuck—Reid, I can't really even decide what I'm going to do in the next five minutes, let alone the next five years."

You chug the gatorade as you think about it—a bigger apartment would be nice, one that's closer to work would be nicer still. One with a good view of the city, maybe a library or a liquor store within walking distance, if not a Michaels or a Joanns.

You've always been more of a cat person but you have a ridiculously insurmountable softspot for greyhounds and pitbulls, so if you thought you could take in an animal in the coming years, you would have the knowledge and the background to give them a good home.

You'd maybe want to change up your hair color, if the drunken opportunity presented itself. A change in appearance feels like the sort of thing a person finds necessary at the age of twenty four, in the last year before the brain fully develops and stuff starts changing bit by bit.

"I think I'll still be on the team," Spencer says. "I know it. I love what we get to do everyday, Y/N. Helping people? Saving lives? We do good. We're good people."

"What else do you think about the next five years?" You ask, your voice quiet.

"I think I'll still be living in my same apartment, and that I'll still bicker and get into prank wars with Morgan," Spencer says. "I think I'll still play chess against Gideon on the jet home, and I'll still love to learn anything I can. I know for sure I'm still going to be trying to get you to watch Dr. Who with me, though I hope you agree to watch it after five years of attempts at cajoling you to."

You laugh, and the air takes on a somber kind of tone. "Maybe," you say. "Not likely, but maybe, Reid. Look—I'm going to go to bed so that I can just deal with tomorrows probable hangover head on, but thank you for calling me not once, but twice tonight. I really needed some company that wasn't a little bit of an asshole."

"Yeah, of course," Spencer says. "I—well—merry Christmas, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Spencer," is how you bid him adieu, hanging up the phone thereafter. You throw the gatorade bottle into the recycling and head off to the room you'd claimed, turning the tv onto a low volume and falling asleep with The Muppet Christmas Carol beginning to play in the background.

-

"How was everyones Christmas?" Garcia asks, practically buzzing with excitement as she comes out into the bullpen. Spencer is leaning against your desk, the two of you talking about nothing in particular when she comes around, and Garcia looks at you with a happy grin. "How was Maine?"

"It was Maine," you shrug. "Snowed. A lot. In turn, everyone in my family drank. A lot."

"Oh," Garcia shakes her head. "Too many people and too much booze is God awful."

You shrug. "My parents, my sisters, and my aunt and my uncle hardly felt like too many," you say. "And the amount of booze in which I indulged hardly felt like too much."

"You had a lot," Spencer retorts, looking at you skeptically. "I got a text Christmas morning, if memory serves—"

"A text to thank you for being so nice," You fire back, cutting him off. "Totally not asking you for hangover cures. I would never."

Spencer shakes his head, laughing slightly. You grin, taking a sip of the tea he'd brought you that morning.

"Yeah," he says. "I didn't get a text asking for the ultimate hangover cure-all. I guess I must've remembered it wrong."

Your grin widens, and you nod. "Guess so. How were things with your Mom?"

"They were great," Spencer says. "I had a good time."

"I'm glad," you respond. "Your mother sounds pleasant."

"She is," Spencer nods. "I'd hate to spend more than an hour with yours though."

"She's comin' here in June," you fire back, leaning back in your chair as your grin morphs from grin to smirk. "Be careful for the next six months, Reid, or I'll invite you to dinner with her, myself, and my father."

"That sounds like some form of mideval torture," Derek fires, laughing. Spencer shakes his head.

"Not if Y/Ns there," he murmurs. You take another sip of your tea to avoid seeming flustered to the rest of the team, and Spencer sighs when JJ comes around. You sit up in your chair, already anticipating her next words.

"We have a case," she says. "A series of deaths in Witchita. Briefing room in ten!"

You and Spencer exchange a look. There are only a few days left of it, but it looks like the last of 2005 is due to be a whirlwind.

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don’t Hold My Hand (I’ll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 3

Summary: The day Thomas has been awaiting for is finally here and things don't go as planned. The first crack begins to show

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Talks of medical procedures, needles and blood. Tommy suffers a pain episode

Author’s note: I am so sorry this took so long! These past weeks have been terribly busy and I have been having a major writer crisis. Yet here we are and I hope you enjoy!

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark @zablife

《 Prev part - Next Part 》

Ever since their last encounter, Thomas’ attitude towards her shifted. Charlotte couldn’t say he respected her, for that would take more than a few harsh words and stern looks. But he seemed to have found something in her that piqued his interest. He still refused her help on the daily with the most basic of things, stubborn as a mule, or rather stubborn as a Shelby, but he granted her the ‘honour’ of a few words of conversation every now and then. And Charlotte used every chance she could to try and talk him out of his miracle doctor.

She brought up every argument she could muster, but they were all met with indifferent shrugs of the shoulders, dismissive waves of the hand and, when she pressed too hard, with Thomas turning his back to her and escaping her well intentioned words, seeking refuge in the safety of his veranda. Charlotte remembered time after time when she had to convince soldiers to follow treatment for their own good, to have their medicines and do the exercises and quit the alcohol and the laudanum. She never had to talk a man out of doing something, and definitely never a man like Thomas Shelby.

“Just tell me this, Thomas. Have you ever, at least once, met or even seen any of these veterans this doctor has claimed to cure?”

His silence sufficed as a reply.

The faithful day, Charlotte awoke with a bitter taste in her mouth and a heavy feeling in her stomach. A dull headache throbbed in her temples, since sleep had refused to find her, leaving her to toss and turn as the moon slowly gave way to the sun and the birds chirped in their branches. She did her best to carry on with her duties as usual, but every now and then she nervously glanced up towards the clock, waiting for the strike of 3 in the afternoon. The minutes felt too long and the hours too short. If she stared at the clock, the hands refused to move under her watchful gaze. But then she would turn her back for what felt like five minutes, and when she looked again, nearly an hour had transpired.

The doctor had sent beforehand some medicines that Thomas had to drink prior to the appointment. Charlotte had poured some onto a cup and stared at it intently, hoping that if she looked hard enough she could discern what exactly had been mixed into the ambary liquid, since the bottles had neither a chemist’s name nor any label. But other than identifying a hint of a sweet, herbal scent, she got nothing. 

A taxi stopped before the gates just five minutes to three. Mrs. Gray and Charlotte both awaited in the foyer, standing side by side, to welcome the man who promised them the greatest miracle to be ever seen. They heard voices out the door, and Frances opened before he could knock. The second the doctor crossed the threshold, the bad feeling in Charlotte’s gut worsened.

The man before her dressed poorly. And not in the modest but clean way that most working class people did. His brown suit had definitely seen better days, perhaps better years too; frayed at the hems, the seams stretched out and the buttons hanging precariously from thinned out threads. Whoever had sewn in the elbow patches definitely had very little practice in tailoring. The shirt had taken a yellow hue from wear and time, and some bare threads hung from the collar. The shoes desperately needed a visit to the shoemaker, soles detached on the tips, the gap widening with each step.

Two women came with him, one on each side and just a step behind him, both with severe faces and strict postures. They dressed as nurses did, with the light blue dress and the Sister Dora cap upon the hair, but had black rubber aprons tied about the waist instead of the usual soft white linen she herself wore. Their appearance evoked more butchers than healers. Charlotte could certainly picture them wielding cleavers and with red splatters on their faces, not precisely from slicing meat.

Mrs. Gray shared her apprehensions, that much Charlotte could tell by the way the older woman lowered her cigarette slowly, one hand holding onto the ruby pendant hanging from her neck, twirling the gem between her fingers nervously. They both shared a tense and brief side glance, loaded with trepidation,  when the doctor took Mrs Gray's hand and kissed it, his head lowered in a bow. She pulled away from his grasp delicately but firmly, the only betrayal in her collected facade being the slight narrowing of her eyes. He then tried to repeat the impish gesture with Charlotte; but the nurse’ hands remained firm behind her, not giving the audacious man even a speck of chance. 

The doctor straightened, arms behind his back and puffing out his chest like a proud peacock. He appeared to not be unfazed by the tepid welcoming, although Charlotte easily noticed his barely concealed disappointment. Perhaps in other houses he had been received with tears and cheers like a hero who would save the day. She wondered if he had been sent off with the same enthusiasm after his magical treatments. 

“Miss and Madame, I am Doctor Elias Keller '' He put a hand to his chest and bowed again, as if he were being presented to Queen Mary and her daughter in Buckingham Palace. “These are my assistants, Bertha and Henrietta” Both women nodded curtly once, still standing just a step behind Doctor Keller, like petty soldiers flanking a high ranking officer, ready to rush to do his bidding.

The man put out his hand again towards Mrs. Gray, mayhaps hoping for a handshake. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction, instead reaching for her cigarette case and lighting a new one. She took her time to take a long, deliberate drag and allowing the smoke to billow from her dark cherry lips before speaking

“I am Mrs. Gray, Mr. Shelby’s aunt. And this is Charlotte, Mr. Shelby’s private nurse” Charlotte had never heard her refer to Thomas as Mr. Shelby, but she understood the motive; she didn’t want to give Dr. Keller any chance of familiarity. As if she wanted, through subtle actions, to remind him of his position before he got too cocksure. In her line of work she had surely met one too many charlatans, Lottie thought, and she too could smell the rottenness in him. 

Doctor Keller smiled, although the gesture looked perfectly practised and not at all sincere. Charlotte did notice that he looked her up and down out of the corner of his eye, and not in a bawdy way; quite the opposite, in fact. He seemed uncomfortable with her presence, a feeling that had appeared upon his face only after Mrs. Gray mentioned her to be a nurse. He fixed his bowtie, giving it a firm tug before addressing her

“A nurse, you say? You certainly don’t look like one, far too young you are. Perhaps a maid turned caretaker?” He raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling with condescending amusement. Charlotte clenched her jaw, teeth nearly grinding in annoyance.

“War nurse, in fact. I served in convalescent homes and then field hospitals in France since 1916. I was awarded for distinguished service” She puffed out her chest at the last part. Even if her recognition strips and medal lay forgotten at the bottom of a drawer in her room she had the right to boast about them. She had earned them through hardship and sweat, and she would not let this mountebank look her down. 

Doctor Keller’s lips tightened into a line, but he regained himself with such ease one might even doubt the gesture existed. He straightened up once more, his eyes fixated upon Mrs. Gray, every aspect of his posture and demeanour indicating he wished to keep Charlotte excluded from the conversation

“Well Mrs. Gray, I must not be delayed. Every second that I am not by my patient’s side it is a second lost. I am very devoted to them and wish to give them only the best of everything, including my time” Charlotte had to look aside to disguise a poorly stifled laugh. The man didn’t spare her a glance, but his guarding dogs both looked her down with a mixture of annoyance and indignation. The shorter, much older woman reminded Charlotte of her commanding matron in the ward when she first enlisted; they both bore a particular type of severity in their faces that could put generals to their knees. Charlotte had bowed her head before the matron; out of respect for her status and service, but she would not let herself be intimidated by the walking circus before her.

Mrs. Gray on the other hand, had Doctor Keller’s complete attention on her. The man kept trying to go up the stairs, but she kept trying to delay him just a few more minutes

“You have just arrived, why don’t we have tea in the drawing room? We can sit down and discuss what treatment are you planning to implement on my nephew” Her manicured hand came to rest on the doctor’s bicep, as if attempting to steer him away from the grand staircase. But the man, who mere minutes ago had presented himself as fulsome and flirty towards her, didn’t take her attempts kindly. He stepped away from her touch, straightening out his worn jacket.

“Mrs. Gray, I must go to my patient at once. I am a very busy man and see many soldiers like him a day. My time is of precious value and not to be so easily wasted. If you do not show me to his rooms I will be forced to leave and reconsider his position as my patient” He spoke fast, a shrill tone edging his voice, the perfectly polished facade he had brought with himself showing the first crack. He appeared nervous to not have the family’s support, surely not used to be resisted that way. Charlotte prayed internally that Mrs. Gray would push just a little harder, that she would stand her ground for a bit more, enough to scare this opportunist into running and never looking back. 

But alas, Mrs. Gray relented, perhaps to spare herself of a round with her nephew when he found out she had blocked the way for his miracle doctor, or mayhaps because she too bore a miniscule sliver of hope that whatever they did to Thomas may work. 

She gave Charlotte a look, a brief one, no more than a second, but loaded with many conflicting feelings. Her lips quivered from the effort it took her to not say word, and she had to remind herself mentally of her position within that house; just a worker, placed there to look after the Master of the house, not to give opinions or interfere with his businesses. Feeling her heart tighten, Charlotte led the way towards Thomas’ chambers. When they reached the double doors she pushed them open, allowing them inside before stepping in. But she found her path blocked by the older assistant, who crossed her arm on the threshold to hold her back

“Doctor Keller works alone. If he needs help he will have us. Please wait outside” The harshness of her voice matched perfectly that of her face, her broad frame firmly forcing Charlotte out of the room. Incensed, and perhaps frightened, Charlotte stood her ground, her shoulder pushing against the human wall that was the other woman.

“I work here. I am his caretaker. You will not touch a hair of his head without me there” She spoke perhaps with more passion and strength than her station required, but she felt an overwhelming need to protect Thomas. She could not let, on her best judgement, allow this swindler to beguile Mr. Shelby and endanger his life on false promises.

Just when she readied to perhaps commit acts unbefitting of her against that woman, Mr. Shelby spoke up, his voice calm but firm.

“Charlotte. It’s okay. Just go downstairs”

The assistant stepped aside briefly, allowing Charlotte a peek inside. Thomas sat in his chair near the windows, an unlit cigarette perched between two fingers. Doctor Keller kneeled at his side, holding his free hand in his own in a reassuring grasp. The sunlights poured abundantly through the panes, golden beams framing them. 

“Charlotte. Please” He had never said please to her.

He nodded towards the doctor, and the man stood up, taking control of the wheelchair and leading Thomas away from the windows and from Charlotte’s view.

The last thing she thought she saw was a smile on Mr. Shelby’s face before the assistant slammed the door on her face.

Time moved painstakingly slowly. Hour after hour slipped away, the sun steadily making its way across the skies. Warm orange bathed the rooms towards the back of the house, shadows lengthening as afternoon gave way to sunset. Charlotte sat in the main room, a luxury she rarely granted herself. Before she laid a teapot of black currant tea which had not been touched, and biscuits she refused to eat. She had chewed her thumb in anxiousness, leaving the imprints of her own teeth on the pads.

At least five times during her wait, Charlotte made her way towards Thomas’ bedroom but stopped halfway through, doubting in her feet before slowly making her way back down. She wanted to go up and see for herself what they were doing; every fibre of her being urged her to. But at the same time she feared what she would see or hear there. 

A half past six, the double doors closed with a dry thud, and heavy footsteps resonated in the stairwell. Charlotte scrambled from her seat, almost slipping on the fancy rug and knocking her hip against a side table as she rushed into the foyer. Somehow Mrs. Gray beat her to it, already standing at the foot of the stairs even though she hadn’t seen her around since the doctor’s arrival.

Doctor Keller marched down the stairs ceremoniously, his head held high, as if he had just rediscovered America. He had removed his jacket, and his yellowed shirt clung to his body with sweat. His assistants walked behind him, carrying his cases and a bag Charlotte swore they hadn’t brought with them. Their rubber aprons had been wiped clean, and for some reason, that didn’t sit right with Charlotte.

He addressed Mrs. Gray, once more his posture and actions disregarding Charlotte’s presence. The man took Mrs. Gray’s hands, and this time she didn’t push him back. His smile suggested reassurance and triumph.

“The procedure has gone well. Mr. Shelby is now upstairs in his bed, sleeping. He has been left exhausted and I suggest he is not disturbed until morning. I will return in a fortnight to repeat the treatment, and will continue to do so as many times as it is necessary, but I feel confident that progress will be seen before my return” 

Mrs. Gray’s eyebrows knit together in worry, and although she didn’t grant the doctor the reward of a smile, she had lost some of the apprehension she bore in the morning.

“Can you tell me what exactly is it that you have done to him? What sort of treatment is this?”

Doctor Keller chuckled heartily, shaking his head while he patted her hand “Now Mrs. Gray, those are gruesome details that delicacies like yourself should not have to endure” Charlotte buffed at the last part. Mrs. Gray could be described as anything but delicate. And the comment obviously didn’t sit well with the older woman either, for she immediately dropped the doctor’s hands and took a step back.

“Allow me to see you out, Doctor Keller” Even in now obvious annoyance, Mrs. Gray displayed an affability that Charlotte envied; a possession and control of the emotions that very few mastered. The small group headed outside while the valet brought the car around. But Charlotte did not follow, instead sprinting up the stairs towards Thomas’ bedroom.

She peered inside quietly, walking on tiptoes. Every window had been opened, the room smelling of damp soil and autumn leaves, but the earthy scent could not entirely mask the acrid smell of rubbing alcohol. The breeze had scattered papers from the desk all over the floor, and she hurried to pick them up, knowing how much disorganisation ticked Thomas off. As she placed them on the desk, she noticed they had left a kidney dish forgotten, alongside with a syringe filled with a milkish substance. The needle, the length of Charlotte’s hand, was coated in red.

Slowly, fearfully even, she turned towards the bed. She didn’t know what she expected to see, perhaps a gory scene with blood splattered on the walls and pooling on the floor, or a massacre akin to those seen in the field hospitals in France. Yet she only saw Thomas, laying on his side and submerged in a deep slumber, dressed only in his sleeping shirt and underwear.

She approached him slowly, her keen eye noticing the layer of sweat covering his skin, hair sticking to his temples and beads rolling down the curve of his neck. She dampened a cloth in the basin and wiped his forehead, feeling his skin feverish to the touch. The corners of his mouth had reddened marks, as if they had been rubbed raw against something coarse. Frowning in confusion, Charlotte leaned back, moving to examine the rest of his body. She found nail marks in his palms, in lines of bloodied crescent moon shapes. Just as she moved to grab the first aid kit to clean them, she picked up a small but significant detail.

The sheets had been changed

That morning, the bed had pure white sheets of plain linen without any embellishment, and these had simple blue embroidery on the edges, intertwined with Thomas’ initials as laundry marks. Charlotte could simply not understand why they would change the sheets amidst such secrecy instead of asking her or one of the maids to handle it, and neither could she find said sheets no matter where she looked. Clearly, whatever had been spilled on those linens, the doctor and his devils in tow wanted to be kept secret.

Worry crept up Charlotte’s spine and clawed at her throat. She didn’t want to disturb Thomas’ slumber, not after seeing him sleeping better than he had ever done before. Yet she could not ignore her instincts, not when they screamed at her so loud they drowned every other thought in her mind. 

So she sat by the bed and watched.

Waited and watched, while the sun gave way to the moon. A maid brought her food but she barely ate, feeling as if Thomas would burst into pieces or fade into mist if she took her eyes away from him for one second. Frances came near eleven, urging her to go to bed, but she only asked the older woman to take watch for a moment while she changed into her nightgown and robe. Even during the brief routine of closing the curtains and turning off lights she kept glancing towards him. But despite her best efforts she was only human, and the ever growing tension of the day had worn her out. She huddled in an armchair near the bed, a blanket around her legs and a small pillow supporting her neck. She had a book in her lap, but fatigue clouded her vision and foggied her thoughts. She swore she heard the grandfather clock chime 1 in the morning just before she fell asleep.

Charlotte woke up in a nightmare.

In the space between the land of dreams and the real world, guttural, horrific groans of pain seeped into her mind, making her hair stand on edge. Her heartbeat quickened and her feet chilled. She had to fight the drowsiness and exhaustion off her body and will her eyes to open. The room was illuminated only by moonlight coming from one curtain she had kept drawn back, casting phantasmagoric shadows on the walls. As her vision adjusted to the darkness and her senses sharpened, she sought the source of those sounds. Her first instinct was to go to the window, but she hadn’t moved a step when the grunts of pain returned, coming from very close to her. 

Thomas doubled over himself in the bed, fingers digging on the sheets and his jaw locked tightly around a corner of the pillow, poorly attempting to drown his pained cries. Charlotte rushed to turn on a lamp, and when warm light bathed him, she let out a scream of her own.

Crimson blossomed in the back of his nightshirt, the stains growing like flowers along the length of his spine. When she pushed his shirt up, she saw bandages entirely soaked in blood, the coppery scent filling her nostrils. The flesh around them had reddened and swelled. Thomas kept writhing, only worsening things as whatever they had done to his back kept tearing open and bleeding anew. 

His fingers dug into his own hair, pulling at the black strands in desperation as he muffled the screams by biting into his forearm. Somehow that grounded Charlotte, setting her back into the same steeliness that got her through the war. She rushed to the medicine cupboard and pulled out bottles, not even bothering to check the labels, for she knew what she looked for. The laudanum she kept at the very bottom, hidden behind all the taller bottles, had not been opened. She went to pour it in a spoon, but thought it better and instead poured it into a glass, estimating what dosage would put two adult men to sleep. With the amount of whiskey and other things Thomas consumed on the daily, she knew a spoonful would barely give him a tickle.

She climbed in bed next to him, trying to sit him up so he could drink. But Thomas seemed to be paralysed with pain, and even the tiniest of movements reignited the agony. Not a word passed his lips, only exclamations of pains mixed with heavy, slowly drawn gasps of air, for even the simple act of breathing had become a struggle.

“Thomas, Thomas, breathe. Breathe with me” She cooed soothingly, running her fingers through his hair in a gentle caress “I have your medicines. But you need to sit up a bit to drink” Her calm words fell on deaf ears, and she couldn’t blame him for not heeding her command. Charlotte wanted desperately to ease his suffering, but for that she had to move him, which would only worsen his pain. She hated she had to do it, but it was for his own sake.

“I am sorry about this” She murmured as she sat by his side, hooking her arms under his heavy body the best she could to pull him up. The scream he emitted was otherworldly, and she could only silence it by putting her hand in his mouth, letting him bite her flesh like a rabid dog. The pain shot up her arm but she ignored it, not moving until his jaw had unclenched. She had managed to prop him upright against her chest, with her own back resting against the headboard. His head laid limp against her bosom, and the still fresh blood stained her robe. But none of that mattered at the moment. 

Charlotte tried to get him to drink with the spoon but he refused to open his mouth. Sweat now poured profusely down his face and neck, giving his skin an unhealthy glistening. Even in the faint light she could see his complexion had paled, but at least it appeared the bleeding had stopped. Charlotte forced the spoon past his lips, but he only splattered on it, spilling the laudanum everywhere. When she tried again, he shook his head like a child refusing his porridge. She sighed in frustration, and also because his weight against her made it hard to breathe.

“Thomas, please. It will do you good. I promise it. You will feel better”

Again, nothing. Every muscle in his body was painfully tense, and she could see the vein in his forehead popping and the pulse beating strong and quick in the side of his neck. She placed a tender hand on the side of his face, her thumb running up and down the sharp length of his jaw to ease the tension. After a few minutes she noticed a slight improvement and how his lips parted open. Lottie seized that opportunity and brought up the spoon again. And this time, he sipped the medicine.

“That’s it. Take it slowly. This will make you feel better Tommy”

The pet name escaped her without thinking, and honestly, she didn’t give it a second thought. His aunt called him that so often that it had simply slipped into her vocabulary. 

Spoon by spoon, slowly and carefully, Thomas drank the laudanum. The medicine acted quickly, and soon the relaxation became visible in his body. His muscles loosened, his breathing calmed and his pulse returned to normal.

Minutes ticked by in peaceful calmness, a stark contrast to the abrupt awakening she had. A brief glance to the clock showed her a quarter to four. Still a long time to go before sunrise. And a lot to be done. The bed had been left a disaster, as had Thomas himself. She would not bother with the sheets but the bandages and his clothes needed changing. It took her some serious shifting and pulling to get out from under him, but at last Charlotte managed to lay him down, propped comfortably on some pillows. She laid him as comfortable as she could, since she doubted she would be able to move him again. 

The shirt was a goner, so she had no qualms in cutting it to shreds to slip it off his body. The bandages soon followed, alongside the thick folds of gauze which were now blood soaked. The sight underneath stole the breath from her lungs

A series of wounds traced the length of Thomas’ spine, from lower to mid back. Perfectly lined puncture wounds, in pairs, going up at regular intervals. Whatever needle had been used surely resembled more an icepick, for the holes seemed to have been drilled in his flesh. Charlotte could not even fathom what sort of procedure Tommy had been put through, but now her other findings made sense. The nail marks on his own hands from where he has fisted them so tight, and the abrasions on his mouth, surely a leather strip or a simile had been put in his mouth as a gag. Tears welled up in her eyes when she thought how he had willingly subjected himself to torture of the worst kind just for a crumb of hope.

She washed him clean as best as she could in that position, rinsing away the blood and sweat. She didn’t have any medicines at hand to apply to the wounds, so she only rebandaged them, making a mental note to ring a real doctor the next day for some real medicines. Since the sheets could not be changed nor could he be dressed again, Charlotte laid some clean towels around him and tucked him tight with the blankets. 

As she moved around him, she paid close attention to his face for the first time. Without that perennial scowl on his face he appeared much younger, even under all that messy hair and unkempt beard. His eyelashes were enviably long, casting shadows upon his high cheekbones even under the weak light of the bedside lamp. His nose had a straight slope, and his jaw a particular sharpness, noticeable despite the beard. He was objectively very handsome, a man girls would surely fawn over. 

Just as she readied to retake her watching post, Charlotte noticed again the nail marks on his palms, now swelling up and the skin purpling. She took his hand on her lap as she cleaned it gently, wrapping a simple bandage around them. Just as she moved to stand, his hand gripped tightly the fabric of her robe, stalling her moves. 

When she turned to face him, she realised Thomas had been awake this whole time. His eyes were open, and the ice had melted from them, giving way to a sharp shade of blue, vibrant even under the obvious exhaustion. His eyes fixed upon her, and they held each other’s gazes for a moment. Charlotte had stared into those eyes many times, and had read many hidden emotions behind the blueness, but that night she saw something new, something she never expected to see in him; vulnerability. Raw, deep, unsuppressed vulnerability. The first glimpse of the man behind the carefully crafted iron mask.

It felt almost wrong to be allowed to see the facade crack, like being made privy to a secret she felt unworthy of. At last, she lowered her eyes first, working on putting aside her medical supplies, just to keep her hands and her concentration busy.

“Sleep, Tommy” The words were hushed, her voice meant to be soothing, although he wouldn’t need much soothing with the dosage of laudanum she gave him “Rest will do you good” 

Charlotte moved to stand, but he moved to grip her wrist instead, his hold firm but not hurtful. She looked up to him again, confusion lacing her features.

“Stay”

The words were spoken through great effort, coming out raspy and strained, but perfectly clear. 

“I will not leave you. I will sit right by your bed” She reassured him, but he didn’t let go. In a sudden movement he pulled on her arm, throwing her off balance and tossing her rather unceremoniously on the bed, so that their bodies laid close together. She felt her heart rise to her throat, eyes wide and breaths quick at the sudden proximity. She wondered if the pain medicines had loosened Thomas’ inhibitions. Or perhaps he was just in desperate need of some of the human contact he often rejected.

For long minutes Tommy just stared at her wordlessly, not offering an explanation as to why he did that, nor letting go of her arm either. Heat rose to Charlotte’s cheeks, yet she could not look away from him either. The silence lingered until she chose to break the spell.

“Tommy?”

His fingers slid down from her wrist, lacing his hand with hers. His next words held a longing and rawness Charlotte didn’t believe possible in him.

“Don’t leave me alone. Not tonight"

[ernmark]

Juno Steel and the Case Closed (part 1) reaction

It's been a while since I've done one of these, hasn't it?

But it's the last episode, and I wanted to be here for the end. So if you'd like, some thoughts and theories under the cut:

It was a solid choice to have Nureyev go-- to make this final story about Juno and his world and his life, rather than specifically about their relationship. But also, the choices made around Nureyev's leaving-- holy shit.

Because here's a man who's spent the last twenty years entirely defined by his relationship with one man, and now he's cut loose and of course he's flailing to re-establish himself in a different orbit. And you can hear it in his voice, where it rises into something halfway to panic (amazing job, Noah Simes), and you can feel exactly how horribly wrong it's going to go if he goes down that road. And then there's Juno, who's healthy enough to be the voice of reason, even when it hurts him? Who makes it clear he's willing to wait until Nureyev is ready for him? Oh my god, that's perfection. (And Nureyev going maybe back to Brahma-- my little fanfic writer heart did a leap there). Nureyev may very well be back next episode (I suspect he will, if only for the final moments), but I really like this as an ending of their arc-- not the neatly laced up riding off into the sunset together, but looking forward to that sunset and being actually ready for it when it comes. It makes my heart feel so good.

--

And from that happy moment, to have Juno go back to Hyperion, to his office, and immediately start slipping back into his worst self? Oh, that's too real-- in a way that I am very happy with. Because he isn't 'fixed'. Juno 'born-a-sad-baby' Steel won't ever be 'fixed', not by romance or a vacation or a wonderful new family dropping him reminders of how much they love him. What's wrong with him isn't something that can be fixed-- but this time around it's different. This time around, when he yells at Rita she stands up to him (with a small, tremulous voice, because goddamn standing up to people you love is terrifying). I am so proud of her for that, and of him for backing off. It takes a palpable effort for him to rein himself in, but he's making that effort-- and he knows how, in a way that I don't think he did in those early seasons. It's a choice he's making, over and over again, just like it's a choice he makes to keep replaying Jet's wisdom instead of drowning his misery in tequila.

(Another kudos there: that Juno's problem isn't addiction, not the same way it is for Jet-- alcohol isn't a problem for him when things are going well, but it's easier to retreat into a bottle than to deal with his feelings. It's a distinction you don't see very often. Honestly, the way this show has dealt with addiction has been really refreshing to see.)

I've said from the beginning that one of the things that really drew me to this show was how it handles Juno's depression-- as a genuine mental illness that's an inherent part of him. And it's enheartening to see him struggle with it, but now be able to reach out for the tools and the support he needs. And that support doesn't have to be Jet literally talking him away from the bottle, or Rita or Nureyev petting him and making him feel better. He can reach for the pieces of them that they leave behind. And he can wish the Ruby 7 a good journey home, and send Nureyev to find himself, not without pain and grief, but without completely losing himself to it.

That kind of story gives me so much more hope than any kind of 'happily ever after' ever could.

--

And then the designated mystery, which has me so freakin' excited:

Nightmare.

She is the culmination of so many plot threads that I've been picking up on for so long and I'd completely forgotten about, and I am so freaking excited to see it.

I was in such a rough place emotionally when we last visited the most obvious of those threads, I genuinely don't remember if I posted meta about it or not, but it definitely struck some bells:

When Juno rescued Rita from Dark Matters, the safehouse she was in was described as being full of items that were clearly meant for a child. At the same time, Sasha was having Rita destroy all evidence of her own life so thoroughly that not even Rita herself would be able to find traces afterward.

It seemed most obvious to me that she was hiding a child (one that, I didn't realize until Juno remarked on Nightmare's area code, could have been hidden in the suddenly repopulated New Town without anybody asking inconvenient questions about who she was or where she came from). Also her taking care of a child would explain her ever-escalating reactionary tendencies-- she certainly wouldn't be the first parent who descended into authoritarianism in a misguided attempt to protect someone.

So some theories about who and what Nightmare is:

Alessandra's daughter is the most obvious, of course. (I still hold onto that theory that Sasha was either the Worst Client that Juno told Alessandra Strong about, or else that Sasha was the cheating spouse in that story.)

Nightmare could be Annie Wire's daughter-- assuming that Annie survived the factory, grew up, had a child of her own, and then died for real this time, leaving her grieving sister to raise her niece.

Nightmare could be Annie Wire herself-- dead, kept in stasis, revived by Dark Matters technology, and then whisked away to the safe house.

Nightmare could be a clone of Sasha and/or Annie. Honestly, not digging this theory, but I might as well throw it out there.

Nightmare could herself be a Radical, not unlike the Ruby 7, who's taken on Sasha's appearance and stayed that way ever since (after all, Sasha would have been at just about the right age when she was recruited by Dark Matters)

From a narrative standpoint, I'm most fond of the idea of Nightmare either being Annie or Annie's daughter, personally. Because that's literally the second mystery we were given, and it was pointedly never solved. As much as I like the idea that some mysteries just aren't and you have to make peace with that, I'm a big fan of long games like this, and of tugging on threads from the beginning of a story when you're wrapping up the end. That's especially true for Sasha's arc closing here, back in Hyperion City. Sasha's voice was one of the very first that we heard in this series, and Sasha's trajectory has always been a funhouse mirror version of Juno's. She's always been an integral part of his story. It seems fitting that her story gets wrapped up alongside his.

[ladyluscinia]

Izzy, Bottles, and Apologies

Izzy's arc in S2 has been a wild ride.

The S1 Izzy enjoyers are feeling vindicated as hell, many people are fully revising their opinion of him, and the people still hating him have a new criticism or off the wall theory daily. David Jenkins LOVES Izzy and is having the time of his life trying to make sure everyone else does too. They had Con O'Neill sing in drag!

And naturally I have thoughts.

This is gonna be a two part post, I think. First, as much as people are celebrating Izzy having realized his arc and come into his own - from the singing to the apparent BlackBonnet shipping - there are some threads they could pull on that might reveal more arc to come. And I am really hoping they pull them, so I'm gonna tell you why you should too!

And second, I have some minor points I dislike and concerns that this might be the end of the arc. Which would be disappointing but I think I get why, so I'm gonna discuss that too.

To start...

---

"How are you handling all this so well?"

Here's the thing about S2 Izzy - while I need to be clear his behavior is not OOC or inconsistent with S1, it is happening rather fast. I'm pretty sure that has a lot to do with out of universe reasons I'll get into later, but in-universe it stands out. Now, he's hardly the only one operating on an accelerated schedule - the timeline for this season is an insanely fast not-even-two-weeks - but Izzy's defining struggle in S1 was fear of change. That was the cause of his friction with Edward, and what made him an antagonist in the first place.

In S2 he's gone through a lot of trauma, yes, but that fear is noticeably less present than I would expect.

Izzy in 2x06 has been cleaned up from his sobbing mess phase for just over 48 hours and he faces Edward with a joke, and then that night sings a moving French serenade to the crew. The next morning he's teasing them about finally hooking up and spends the day offering both Stede and Edward relationship advice.

He's a newly realized man... shedding repression and embracing who he could be. Accepting his breakup with Edward and trying to openly support the relationship that's better for him.

It's fun!

It's also, potentially, a bit of a flag. Maybe not a red one, not yet, but... pink-ish? A bit orange?

Let's look a little closer at those frayed edges.

---

"Well, you see, I have a system..."

There's an exchange from right at the start of the Pilot episode that has echoed through the entire series so far:

"Bottle it up?" -> "No, Frenchie! No, that's the worst thing you could do!"

Not talking to other people, not addressing your traumas... that's the kind of shit that just builds and builds inside you. When the cork eventually pops, the resulting damage can be a lot. Look at the finale of S1, where all of Stede's bottled up guilt and insecurities laid waste to his relationship with Edward, and then inadvertently became the first domino in the Kraken.

S2 is quick to bring this scene back into the forefront. The first time we see the Breakup Boat crew talking in 2x01, Frenchie reveals that "Bottle it up?" wasn't just a random comment he made, but a philosophy of his:

"Ah - well, you see, I have a system for dealing with all the terrible things I've seen. There's a box, in my mind, and I put the things in the box, I lock the box, and then I don't open it again. Works like a charm."

Apparently, Frenchie is the only one it actually seems to be working for.

Now, the show has been drawing some interesting lines between Frenchie and Izzy. From both serving as Blackbeard's First Mate to being frequently shown as a duo - tormenting Navy guys together on Sunday's raid, Frenchie holding Izzy's hand, Frenchie leaning on Izzy's leg in the cell, Frenchie behind him raising the flag in 2x05 - it's fitting that Izzy echoes Frenchie's preferred coping method. First he frames the non-acknowledgement of harm from Edward as just... part of piracy. He's a pirate, so he's fine with it.

And then we get Izzy's little whittled shark reveal and the conversation with Lucius about his leg:

"I don't know what you're talking about. Shark did this... dangling my legs over the side of the ship. Served me right, too."

Lucius calls him out on the unhealthy behavior, and Izzy concedes his point:

"O-kay, that seems healthy. Using a bit of fiction to help cover up your trauma." -> "Yeah, well... not moving on is worse. Twatty."

And to give him credit, he's right in his advice to Lucius. Filling his sketchbook with pages and pages of Blackbeard trauma is Lucius's form of bottling it up - thinking in endless recursive circles about his tumble off the ship and everything that followed. We already know chasing revenge instead of living is bad - Jim and Spanish Jackie established it last season, and Pete just echoed them. When Izzy advises Lucius to move on, that's what Lucius does.

But what Izzy is doing with the shark? That's not the same thing at all. He's lost a leg, grazed a bullet off his own head, and was snarling drunken accusations at himself in the mirror... he's not moving on from that. He's bottling it up with a nice dose of self-blame.

Cutting the legs off the unicorn for not doing it's job right and saying "served me right" about his fictional shark? There's a real dark knot of emotions there.

(Recall, too, that Edward deflected his hurt from Stede's abandonment into a "fictional character" during his chats with Lucius, and that delayed the explosion but couldn't stop it.)

So... Izzy's definitely coping with trauma in a way the show does not advise and often circles back to. Can we see any signs in 2x06 and 2x07?

---

The Weight of Things Unsaid

At the very start of 2x06, Izzy gets the thing he spent all of 2x05 mentally bracing himself to never hear - an apology from Edward for his leg. He walks up to initiate conversation and begins talking like nothing has changed. Edward is back in his leathers. Appropriate, given that his penance onesie was nothing genuine, just "how long do I have to wear this fucking thing for?" And Izzy is ready for them not to address the obvious hurt, to just smooth over a few jabs and go back to normal... but even Edward's mumbled little "Sorry about your leg" is so significant and difficult he flees as soon as he gets it out, leaving Izzy to sit, incredulous, with the acknowledgement.

It's still almost definitely not enough.

There was so much between them in 2x01 - 2x03. The writers literally did BlackHands love confessions on both sides. An apology from Edward Teach - a man who historically does not apologize - is a huge first step but still only the first step. The real things unsaid are so much bigger than a leg.

We get something else, too... Edward commenting on Izzy's drinking.

"Jesus. Really putting that away, aren't ya?"

Izzy has had booze a lot this season. He lost a leg and pain meds aren't really an option, so not surprising, but notable. Edward, advocating for substance abuse to deal with bad feelings, calls him a lightweight in 2x01. When they are found with the dead seabird in 2x03, Izzy takes a pointed drink from his bottle, and then 2x04 he spends the entire episode completely plastered. He seemingly sobered up for 2x05 - probably to focus on sword training and his whittling project - but now the bottle is back again before Izzy disappears for several hours.

And a little liquid courage might explain his going all in for the Calypso's Birthday performance.

I do appreciate that the performance on it's face is something completely unexpected for Izzy, but when thinking about it... it does make sense.

We already know music and performance were available on Blackbeard's ship even before Stede. Edward learned to play shanties on the piano somewhere, and singing is a common and encouraged part of sailing culture. Izzy's choice of song to perform is something a lot more emotional, but this is probably not his first performance for a crew.

Makeup, too, is in fashion for men and women at this time, and OFMD has shown it as such before. Izzy has never worn fashion makeup, or tried to be beautiful, but the concept wouldn't be alien to him. Wee John's description of a dramatic party look might even have intrigued him specifically because Izzy has actually done "looks" before - of the terrifying "theatre of fear" kind. The Kraken did have his whole crew in makeup for their raids. Taking the opportunity to embody something a bit more vulnerable and try to bring joy to this crew that took care of him is meaningful as fuck.

And it's still a drag performance!

It's a good pair of moments - before and after Ned. Proof that all this isn't just coping method - that's not what I'm arguing here - and even if Izzy's still bottling up a lot of feelings he's not doing the same full pressure bomb thing as he did in S1. There's been growth!

(This is why the flags are only pink-ish / orange-ish right now.)

Episode 2x07 though... I'm not so sure he's doing good as much as pretending it's all good.

Showing up to make his joke in the morning is a fun moment. I especially enjoy Edward's little "fuck off" with no bite to it 🤣🤣🤣 Reminder they do live together on a ship, so this is likely not even close to the first morning-after that Izzy has gotten front row seats to. But, at least to me, there's also a very performative feeling about it. Izzy being very Look how normal I can be about you fucking your boyfriend, Ed - and Edward picks up on it too. That's why he turns to Stede and whispers "He's jealous" as Izzy walks away.

Izzy continues to make jokes and give advice through the day to our main couple, but he's... subdued. I think his fake chill also disguises that he and Edward aren't on the same page about what they discuss at the docks, hence his poor advice to "listen to it" when the "it" in question is Edward's immediate desire to run away from Stede and become a fisherman. They are talking again, but haven't resumed communicating.

I also think it's relevant that Izzy goes to try and support Stede after Edward dumps him, because we're still waiting for Stede to stop bottling things up. He doesn't talk about Badminton or feelings of inadequacy or even the babiest little olive branch to Edward about "hey my dad kinda sucked too." Edward's two exes are sitting in the bar corner together, thinking about all the shit they won't talk to him about until it kills all three of them. Exciting!

The pressure is building. It has to circle back to Stede in S3. I'm hoping at the same time, it circles back to Izzy, too.

Hoping we get to explore some of his anxiety, and his internalizing negative self-image and blame. At the moment, I think Izzy might have less gotten over his anxieties and more just let go of the wheel of his life entirely, and fortunately had people around to steer him in okay directions. It would be really interesting to explore that more.

(Even if I have some concerns they may not.)

---

Subtle as a Cannonball to the Face

Izzy's character arc was always going to be a long journey - not because he was somehow morally worse than everyone else, or required particularly painstaking growth, or even because there was going to be some great need to "hold him accountable" for S1. No, it was going to be a long journey from an antagonist start for the same reason I mentioned earlier: Izzy's core struggle is fear of change.

OFMD opens with two protagonists recklessly pursuing change in ways that harm themselves, their relationships, and others, and a primary onscreen antagonist resisting change in a way that harms himself, his relationships, and others. There's no easy morality here - they all fuck up. And they all require the entire show to actually figure out the correct balance of change and growth and facing the past.

"I think the three of them are on an arc together that's pretty inseparable." - David Jenkins (Source, 9 Oct 2023)

So... why is there a chance that everything I've mentioned above is going absolutely nowhere and Izzy's arc has been wrapped up with a bow in S2?

Well.

It's late March 2022, the fandom's age is still only countable in weeks, I personally haven't even watched the pilot yet, had only even heard of the show 3 days before... and one of David Jenkins first post-finale statements is telling people to pay attention to Izzy's POV and his and Edward's love story on rewatches (Source, 25 Mar 2022), and then soon after comparing Stede to a homewrecker in Edward and Izzy's toxic marriage (Source, 15 Apr 2022). Lots of links because this stuff was available to the fandom from the start.

By the first half of May 2022 (while poor Mr. Jenkins is still anxiously trying to get his series renewed for S2, since the confirmation won't come until June 1) the takes on Izzy have soured a lot. It's not a "homophobic gay" joke anymore. Now it's "Izzy is the embodiment of colonialism who enforces a racist and homophobic ideal of Blackbeard on Edward" and "pretending Izzy could be canonically gay is homophobic" and "Izzy bought Edward as a slave from the British". Harassing anons have already started on tumblr. No first hand experience with Twitter but I've heard horror stories. These takes are spreading like wildfire through the fandom, with a heavy backing of white fans accepting and spreading anything that sounds vaguely racially-conscious as something they just missed in their privilege and need to listen to POC about. Or listen to other white fans that say they've been listening to POC.

The anchor hoist in 1x09 (that was a complete directing coincidence, as the crew confirmed in late May) is being taken as incontrovertible proof that Izzy is a violent racist, and the relatively small Izzy fandom pushing back against any of these reads is being likened to toxic fangirls declaring Kylo Ren a poor widdle victim because they think violent white guys are so hot their brains fall out. This is happening loudly and in the public forums of social media.

Can you imagine being David Jenkins right then?

This is one of your favorite little guys, who you wrote a silly little homoerotic pirate jealousy arc for. He's kinda cringefail and tends to be a dick, but you cast a guy who you think embodies him with so much sympathy and genuine emotion. You're so excited to explore his direct relationship to the main couple of your series even more. Unfortunately, you and a lot of the cast and crew are also engaging maybe a bit too much in fandom spaces, which very few of you have much familiarity with navigating as creators. AND there's still renewal stress!

If I were him, I too would consider that perhaps my intended Izzy arc was a bit too nuanced and drawn out, and maybe I needed to clear up some misconceptions as soon as I got the opportunity.

Enter S2.

MAX reduced the budget for the season significantly and it shows - particularly in the whole thing having to squeeze into 8 episodes - and I wouldn't be surprised at all if worries over a S3 renewal / S3 budget impacted S2 writing as well. Character arcs got pinched, goals had to be prioritized... and from the looks of the season, "make sure everyone knows Izzy is not a homophobic villain tormenting Edward as fast as possible" came out as a big goal.

I mean they open with a dream sequence that literally mocks the idea of a heroic Stede rescuing Edward from the dastardly Izzy. It's not subtle.

And the lack of subtlety is kind of what's concerning me.

Izzy's arc is (I think) leaving enough threads that they can extend it into S3 with the reveal he's not actually fine and done developing, but they also seem to want his S2 arc to end in a place where maybe he is. Lots of giant signs pointing to him and saying "Look! Everyone likes him!" or "Look! He's also gay!" at the expense of some of his cringefail or dickish charm. My guy had anxiety he dealt with poorly in S1, and I do think they are trying to frontload or adjust the arc so he's basically (or at least seemingly) over that before the next hiatus.

The best way I've seen it described is that the show no longer trusts the audience to pick up what they are putting down, and so they feel the need to really hammer it in. Not necessarily OOC, but definitely de-emphasizing any of his rough edges that were originally just written to not be any worse than the other characters.

This is why Izzy gets shot by Edward in the very first episode for a bunch of complicated reasons that are really good character work and not super hard to discern, but then later they have Izzy point out to Stede why he got shot twice. It's all very "look into the camera and say the themes", because to some degree they are afraid everyone is going to get easily convinced Edward shot him for calling him a namby-pamby that one time.

It makes me worried they are too afraid of misinterpretation to commit to the arc they originally conceived of, even with the finish line in sight in S3.

And, again, I get it, Mr. Jenkins. In October 2022 he made a funny quip and a boner joke on a tweet about Edward's blanket fort and the hordes descended to scream victoriously about how he was cutting down the Izzy stans for their racist infantilization crimes of thinking Izzy would *checks notes* help hold up a blanket. It's a very reasonable conclusion that this fandom cannot read and needs to be spoonfed Izzy's arc.

It just sucks that a toxic section of fandom's misinterpretations appear to have undercut a strong - and, honestly, not that complicated - character arc so much that S2's BlackBonnet arc can be about fuck ups and backsliding, but Izzy needs at least the illusion of having no flaws left come hiatus time.

[not-xpr-art]

Inside no 9 - Series 7 painting studies ~

What I find kinda interesting about looking over this project is that I inadvertently have picked screen shots within a particular series with very similar colours and aesthetics... I think this is def in part because each series has its own distinct style which carries over each episode but also might be something subconscious on my part idk lol

(and like a lot of that is because they mostly had the same few directors for all the eps, so thought obviously they go for a different distinct style for each episode there is still a connected thread between them which I really love!)

It was a nice change of pace to do a landscape for Merrily Merrily tbh especially since the majority of the shots I picked before this point has been mostly confined to interiors! I think someone in my compilation post pointed out how distinct and isolating this shot was in comparison to the rest and I would love to say that was planned but it really wasn't lol... I like how it does kinda reflect how bleak and devastating that ep is!

I did really want to draw the lesbian kiss but the absurdity of a bottle of vodka in a fridge won out in the end I'm sorry guys :((((

Kid/Nap was another one I had to shift slightly to fit into the frame btw lol but I knew I wanted to include one of the split panel scenes since that's part of what makes that episode so unique!

I picked quite a simple screen (double e) shot for A Random Act Of Kindness (double s) but I just really (double l) liked the composition of it, and the shot does feel (double e) pretty (double t) poignant in context of the whole ep!

And of course I had to draw our beloved Ronnie! Loved his expression in that scene even though it was a tough angle to paint!

Honestly would recommend other artists try doing painting studies like this tbh I think it really helps with learning about colour and lighting! (you don't need to try doing 55 paintings in less than 3 weeks though wouldn't recommend that lmao)

Thanks everyone for the love on these again!! <3

[specialagentlokitty]

Carol Danvers x sibling!reader - always come for you

Would I be able to request an MCU imagine where Carol and the reader are siblings, but R struggles with (TW) depression and during a particularly bad depressive episode where R is self destructive when on missions, Carol realises what’s going on and tries to help R? - @jamiedc-they-them 💜

TW: mentions of depression and self destructive behaviour

Pulling your gun out, you didn’t bother aiming your shots, you just fired knowing that your shots would make their mark.

“It was supposed to be a silent infiltration!”

You ignored the voice over the coms, and and you made your way inside.

Tossing your gun aside, you picked up a different one from the floor, checking it out before nodding your head in approval.

It wasn’t a hard mission, quick in and out with what you needed, that was all.

When you made your way back to your car, you place a hand on your side, grumbling a little when you felt it was wet.

“Get your ass back here.”

Raising your hand to your ear you took the com out, tossing it into your bag and you made your way back to base.

You ignored the pain that was slowly spreading across your side, and you walked towards the office you needed, letting yourself.

“Agent Danvers, what a nice surprise.” Fury said.

“Before you give me shit, here.”

You dug through your bag, pulling out some papers you put them on his desk and gestured for him to take a look.

“There’s more bases, I assume that one of these will have the information you want.”

“How long until they find out about that one?” Maria asked.

You shook your head a little, leaning against the wall with a small grumble of pain.

“Couldn’t tell you, maybe a month, they didn’t check on that one often.”

“Right, okay. Now are we going to talk about that stunt you pulled?”

Pushing yourself up, you opened to door, glancing to your sister who was just about to knock on it and she smiled at you.

“Busy.” Was all you said.

With that, you moved past her, heading to your office.

Closing the blinds, you turned on your lamp and turned it so the light was hitting your side and slowly pulled up your shirt.

The bullet thankfully hadn’t lodged itself into you, it had just grazed you so it was easy enough to fix.

Rummaging through the cabinet you pulled out a bottle of vodka, and you grabbed a needle and thread you kept nearby.

Setting it all down on your desk, you rolled up your shirt, carefully inspecting the wound to make sure it was something you could deal with yourself.

Grabbing the bottle, you opened it and went to pour it over the found.

“Don’t you even think about it.”

Carol stormed over snatching the bottle from you.

“Alright I’ll just stand out and bleed out I don’t care.”

“Let’s go, now.”

Carol dragged you to a different office where your wound was properly tended to, and then she dragged you back to your office.

She closed the door and turned to face you, blocking your exit.

“Seriously? A stealth mission and you start shooting at everybody that moves?”

“I had to get the information Carol, before anything happened to it.” You said.

She sighed slightly.

“(Y/N), this isn’t the only time you’ve been hurt on a mission. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Carol, it’s fine really. You know this line of work has danger element.”

“Yeah, when you’re working in a dangerous situation. You’re an expert at infiltration, your powers turn you invisible you don’t need to be seen.”

You shrugged a little, slowly sitting down in your chair as you began to look through some of the files on your desk.

You set one of them down and picked up another one, grabbing your pen to carry on your work.

“I’m worried about you, Fury told me everything (Y/N), and it’s not like you. You’re careful.”

“I’m in a rush Carol, if you’re just here to tell me off then go away.”

She sighed again, walking over she sat on your desk, crossing her arms as she looked down at you.

She could see the small scar on the side of your face, and how you struggled with your left arm and kept rubbing at your shoulder.

It was signs she recognised all before.

“When we were younger, you climbed up a tree, as high as you could not caring if you fell.” She said.

“Okay?”

“A few weeks later we found out you had severe depression. Every time it go worse you would do more and more reckless things with no regard for your own safety.”

You set your pen down, leaning back down in the chair.

“What about it Carol? I do my therapy, I have my prescriptions and all of that.”

“You don’t take them though.”

“It’s my choice if I want to take them.”

She nodded her head.

“I know, but everybody is worried. Fury called me because he’s worried that you’re going to get yourself killed somehow and he’s going to have to tell me. Hell (Y/N), I’m worried about your going to get yourself killed.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Clearly, that’s why you got shot.”

You pushed yourself up, making your way towards the door.

“I’m not listening to this crap.”

“Wait! Okay!”

Carol rushed over, gently taking your hand in hers.

“Please, I’m worried. I don’t want to lose you, we’re family…”

You sighed.

“I know Carol… but it’s not that simple… I can’t.. I can’t help this..”

Carol gently hugged you, mindful of your recent injury.

“I know… that’s why I want to help you somehow…”

You rested your head on your shoulder.

“But for now… no more missions… okay…?” She whispered.

You nodded your head in agreement, knowing either way you weren’t going to be allowed back into missions any time soon anyway.

And maybe it was for the best.

“You’ll stay until I get better…?”

“Yeah, of course…”

She was terrified because she knew how bad things could get, and usually she was always there. Now she’s all over the universe and Carol is scared on day she’s going to miss that call and it’ll be too late

[amuseoffyre]

The Lighting and Colour of Calypso's Birthday

Ended up doing a slightly large rambling thread over on bsky about the use of lighting and colour in Calypso's birthday, so I'll bring it over here to inflict it on you as well :D

The lighting is so important and so reflective of what's happening. Lemme take a minute to yell about it because when I was watching it back, I was flailing in so many directions and we know the choices were deliberately made because bts folks have mentioned it.

Take a look at the start of the party and the colours that are on display and look at the colour-grading for all of the people at the party. Specifically, you'll see that a lot of the lighting is warm-hued, with reds and golds showing in the skin highlights.

Warmth and joy and brightness.

But I also rly rly need to take a moment for the specific lighting on Ed and Stede in this moment. They're both finding their feet together, finding their balance, but the colours here? Hark back to their subconscious minds attacked them: Stede's fever in 1x4 and Ed's gravy basket in 2x3:

This episode began with Ed having a wobble, fearing "a storm's coming but I just can't see it", so the underlying unsettled vibe is already there for him. And as much as Stede wants to act like he has it all together, he has so much bottled up and suppressed and ready to explode unexpectedly.

So the lighting reflect an element of their fears that is still there, even if they're both acting like all is well. And then… aaaaaa! Ned Low attacks and the warmest colours, the reds, oranges, purples and pinks are gone.

With only yellow, greens and cool blues, the entire tone and vibe changes.

Green colour grading, especially tinted with with yellows and blues, is often used in media to represent villains and invoke a sense of trepidation or unease. Perfect examples of this are the hyenas marching in TLK, the Big Bads in the Ghostbusters films, when Neo is inside the Matrix:

So we've gone from a party that was all the colours of the rainbow to a space with sickly green lighting with cold tints through it. It's a visual cue our brains have had pointed at us for years and it gives the ship a deeply unsettling vibe, especially with Ned's reflective silvery colour palette.

Not to mention the fact Ned's entrance is lit by a green lantern. Green as a villain code is common, but also there's other colour symbolism happening here. Green is infamously the colour of envy and Ned is the embodiment of the green-eyed monster, come because someone took what he claimed as his.

Hell, even the way they colour-grade Ned in the cabin is subtly different from Ed and Stede. Those two still have a red undertone to their lighting, a warmth, but like Ned's outfit and hair, there's a coldness to the candlelight on his face.

All three are lit by flame/candles and yet different.

Even in a frame when all three are together, there's a kind of greyness to Ned's hue. Not massively, not something obvious, but enough to make him look just a bit uncanny next to two people with the flush of vitality. It fits with the vibe that he is rotting from the inside out.

And back out with the crew, it's still all yellow and green lighting but I especially love the cut to the moment when Ned is torturing Ed and the main colour there. We've seen Ed tinted in that colour before, only that time, he was torturing himself. Only this time, overlaid with sickly yellow.

But oh, what's this? A single red lantern has survived. And it's the one illuminating Stede when he's tied to the mast. One again, our man's lit in the colour that he was lit in during his trauma fever dream/mini-basket. His fears are being realised, just as they were then.

The fact that both Ed and Stede are lit in their trauma-nightmare colours is tasty enough, but then you add in the fact that there is also a shade of yellow overlaying both of them? Nom nom nom because yellow has form and history in the show, from all the way back in episode 1 of season 1.

Yellow is the colour of Stede's battle jacket that he wraps himself in when he has a panic attack. Ed wrap himself in it too. It's the colour of the pillow fort. It's the blanket Ed hides under at Anne and Mary's. It's the colour they surround themselves with when distressed.

Brief interlude to appreciate the sheer aesthetic frostiness of Ned :D Look at how they've lit and matched every bit of him so he's as fake and shiny as his silver painted suit and violin. All on the surface. All shimmer, no substance.

Am feeling things about this shot with the line "killing in cold blood, you can't come back from that". Man's all lit up in yellow while Ned cheerfully pokes at his fears and makes him doubt himself again, even more. He's never been good enough his whole life. What if he's not good enough now?

And the second Stede kills Ned, the lighting on Ed switches pretty much instantly from mostly blue shades to shades of yellow all over his face. Like Stede, Ed believes he ruins people and because of his actions, he's the one who brought Ned down on them and now, Stede has killed because of it.

Shout out to this shot for the juxtaposition of the yellow and blue.

And then Stede, in shock, having flashbacks to his worst day ever ("this is what a man's work looks like"), ends up shaded in yellow and green as he retreats to hide as he always does when he's upset. Scared and feeling sick 😭

There's probably more, but I am cold and sleepy and have work to get done.

But safe to say they do so much subtextual story telling purely through the lighting and I adore it 😍