#Archer is not impressed and slightly concerned.

[s2pdoktopus]

He was just asking Archer to cover for their cook, Gil!

Based on this

Lol

[talshiargirlfriend]

Oooh for fun if you're feeling the inspo!

I wish you would write a fic where... Trip and T'pol are stuck in the decontamination chamber from a power short/outtage for way longer than they should be—usual banter in full force😉

Okay, so this was stuck in my brain way longer than it should have been, but now it’s free! I hope you like it. ☺️

The decontamination chamber was not a sexy place. It was essentially a medical facility.

Trip prided himself on his professionalism. His discipline and skill in compartmentalising could impress a Vulcan. Here in Decon, his companion was not the woman who frequently shared his bed. And his dreams. And his shower.

She was Commander T’Pol, his respected colleague.

And she was cranky as hell.

Mid-decontamination shower the lights had flickered and gone dark. Captain Archer’s voice informed them of power fluctuations. “We’ve got everything under control. Enjoy your spa day,” he joked.

Trip rolled his eyes and noticed with a smirk that T’Pol was fighting not to do the same.

Phlox’s voice piped up over the intercom just as the emergency lighting activated. “I’m passing spare clothes through the drawer. Please apply the gel and allow it to dry for five minutes before dressing.”

Their clothes had been completely soaked by the spray from the strange little skunk-sloth creature they had startled on the planet.

“You want me to get your ears?” Trip quipped from his side of the divider. He was very carefully not thinking about the fact that she was naked and covered in gel on the other side.

“I believe I have the situation in hand, Commander,” she responded drily.

Trip closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. Did she have to say it like that?

Once dry, they got to put on the snazzy sickbay jammies Phlox had provided. Trip made a mental note to quietly mention to Phlox that underwear would be nice in these circumstances, but since T’Pol dressed without complaint he did the same.

That had been an hour ago.

“Hey Doc, any update on when we can get out of here?”

There was a long pause.

Trip was just about to activate the comm again when Phlox’s voice came through the speaker.

“Well, Commander, the good news is that neither of you appears to be carrying anything harmful or infectious.”

Trip closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. “And the bad news?”

“The bad news is that the power fluctuations have triggered a lockdown. Crewman Rostov assures me he’s ‘working on it’!” Phlox’s cheerful voice sounded a little doubtful.

Trip sighed and sat back down on the bench.

T’Pol was supposedly meditating, but she clearly wasn’t. The silent treatment was getting to him.

“I’m really sorry I got us into this mess,” Trip said miserably. “There was nothing on the scanner. How long do you think it’ll be logical for you to stay mad at me?”

T’Pol looked startled, “Trip, I am not angry with you.”

“You sure? ‘Cause you seem…” he chose his words carefully, “a little unsettled.”

T’Pol looked down before answering. “I am concerned I was distracted by our conversation when I should have been more aware of our surroundings. You were not harmed due to my poor judgment, but that is simply good fortune.”

They had been enjoying a lovely day exploring a new planet and getting a rare breath of fresh air. He had paused to point out a flower that reminded him of one from her mother’s garden. When the creature trilled before popping out of the foliage, T’Pol had stepped in front of him with her phase pistol at the ready, which was how she got sprayed as well as him.

Trip rolled his tongue against his cheek and considered his response. This was clearly a serious concern for her, and he needed to respect that. Balancing her personal needs with her professional responsibilities was not simple or easy for T’Pol.

“I think you should talk to Malcolm when we get out of here. You know he won’t sugarcoat things. If there’s something you should do differently next time he'll tell you.”

T’Pol looked slightly nonplussed by his logical suggestion.

“Now, you wanna know what I think?” he asked.

She nodded.

“T’Pol, nothing showed up on our scanners. You heard that noise before it even registered on the equipment, and you responded before any of us knew what was happening.

You can’t predict or plan for every outcome. There are always going to be surprises, and you just have to roll with it as best you can, which is exactly what you did. You’re not… you’re not becoming distracted and abrogating your duties. You’re just … also, enjoying life sometimes.”

She was silent for several breaths, taking that in.

“What do you think?” Trip ventured at last.

“I think that you have become very sensible.”

“You're the most sensible person I know. You must be rubbing off on me.”

She cocked an eyebrow and muttered “not yet” just barely loud enough for him to hear.

He snorted, “Glad you’ve recovered your sense of humour.”

“Vulcans do not have a sense of humour,” she said, deadpan.

“Of course not.” He agreed solemnly, then grinned when her lips twitched just slightly.

They sat in a much more companionable silence for a while before Phlox’s voice informed them that the lockdown should be released shortly.

“Great news! I can’t wait to get out of here,” Trip enthused while T’Pol sat placidly.

Trip Trucker was very capable of separating the personal from the professional.

But knowing they were due to get out soon he was finding it a little hard to ignore the fact that his beautiful girlfriend was sitting across from him looking adorable and cracking jokes and not wearing any damn underwear.

He tried practicing the breathing she had taught him but he made the mistake of watching her to time himself. The rise and fall of her chest was not a good focal point. He choked back a laugh.

“Commander- Trip, are you all right?”

“Huh?”

“Your face is flushed and your heart rate is elevated. Are you feeling unwell?”

He cleared his throat, “I’m fine. I was just um, thinking… about you,” he admitted with a meaningful glance.

Realisation lit her face and he felt the associated emotions spark against the back of his mind like fireworks. Surprise, followed by affectionate exasperation, and then a nice twinkly hint of arousal. She enjoyed being desired by him.

“What is the expression? Hold that thought,” she told him with the slightest hint of a smirk.

“I’d rather hold—“

Her stern look cut him off just as a loud click resounded in the enclosed space.

“Commanders,” Phlox announced cheerfully, “I’m delighted to tell you you’re free to go!”

They just about managed to maintain a dignified pace as they made their exit.

[cultofdixon]

The archer’s apprentice

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] • They/Them Pronouns • “Ain’t gonna hurt yea kid” “…how can I trust you?” “Take the risk” • SFW/ANGST • TW: Abandonment Issues / Separation Anxiety / Injuries / Scars

Requested by: Anon

Stupid fucking rain Daryl thought as he quickly ran into the cabin after pushing what was blocking the door on the other side far enough to slip in.

But right as he did, a bolt whipped past his head hitting the wall next to him. Daryl turned where the shot was fired and saw the kid still aiming their crossbow at him before dropping it and cowering.

“Ain’t gonna hurt yea kid”

“…how can I trust you?”

“Take the risk” Daryl shrugs watching the kid scramble, ditching their weapon and climbing on top of the bookshelf in an alarmingly fast pace that was impressive and concerning. The only concerning part about it is they must’ve done that before for whatever other reason. “‘M just gonna hold up for a bit…”

No response to his words concerned him but the kid was still keeping to themselves afraid of the stranger.

The archer could only assume why the kid was alone and every thought didn’t make him feel any better. He carefully takes the bolt out of the wall making his way over to where they left their crossbow and placed it beside it. Then he went to make sure the rest of the cabin was secure while also exploring it himself.

He noticed the opened cans on the floor but also the few still in the cupboards of the kitchen. He took only one of them, because he was looking for food before the storm hit.

“How long have yea been here?” Daryl asks returning into the room in hopes that the short time of not talking that they would open up slightly. But all they did was readjust to be more comfortable on top of the bookshelf. “You can trust me yknow”

“H-How many walkers have you killed?”

Rick’s questions? “Too many to keep track of”

“P-People?”

“Also…too many to keep track of” Daryl frowns sitting down on the couch that kept the door closed. “But not in ill intent. There was always a reason”

“Good reasons? How c-can there be good reasons for killing people…”

“They threaten the lives of those yea care about”

“Okay…but if that’s it, and not everyone threatens those you care about, then what is the reason”

Self defense? They’ve been bit? I can’t think of anything else? Daryl tried to think hard about it as the kid slouches.

“Killing is so stupid…n-not that the government was better in the old world…but still. Why does it have to only end with that…”

“Things have changed” Daryl frowns opening the can up noticing the kid’s glued stare on the item. Which lead to the archer handing it to them as they devoured its contents in seconds. “There’s so many open cans, but you eat like you haven’t in days”

“I can’t…get the cans open”

“You don’t have a knife?”

“No…”

“Your bolt can help open it”

“I broke the others, that’s my last one”

“How did yea end up alone?” It was coming, even the kid knew that. But they didn’t want to say anything. It was fresh, and some part of Daryl knew that.

“Look, I just opened that one for yea. I’m gonna open another for you to eat and then one for myself. Alright?”

“You’re not—“

“I’m not gonna poison it, kid. You ate that one and haven’t died” Daryl states watching them inspect the can but decided not to think that he did something to it when they were given the next one. “How’d yea find this place?” He asks on his way back to the couch watching the kid climb down the bookcase then deciding to sit on the floor.

“It’s my uncle’s cabin…”

“Is your uncle around?”

They shook their head bringing their sadden gaze back toward the can as they started to eat more slowly this time. Daryl frowns feeling awful for what the kid must’ve gone through before he found them.

When the weather cleared, Daryl stepped out of the cabin as he was a bit surprised that the kid let him stay. But they didn’t seem to want to be alone during the storm because during the night they freaked out from the thunder and Daryl woke to them asleep on the floor next to the couch he slept on. Before he stepped out, he had placed them on the couch.

But a part of him didn’t leave.

Daryl heard quick shuffling inside the cabin seeing the kid run out in a bit of a panic. But once they saw him they straightened up and pretended they didn’t just do that.

“Never got your name”

“Y/N”

“‘M Daryl, are you alright?”

“Uh. Yeah uh. You leaving I guess” Y/N stepped back pressing their back against the wall, fidgeting with the ends of their sleeves.

Deep down, Daryl didn’t want to leave the kid alone and he wasn’t going to. But he wanted to make it seem like their idea to go with him back to their community.

“I can teach yea how to shoot”

The light in their eyes sparked when he said such as they straightened up looking at the archer with a pleasing look.

“Really?”

“Mhm. I’ll give yea a bolt or two. Go get your crossbow, and I’ll set up” Daryl went back inside with the kid as they ran to get their things while he grabbed a few empty cans.

After Daryl had set up a little shooting range, he set his own crossbow against a nearby tree along with his pack before taking a few of his own bolts for Y/N who approached him unnoticed. He flinched which resulted in the kid doing the same.

“Holy fuck”

“Sorry” Y/N frowns gripping the strap to their crossbow. “Didn’t mean to spook you…”

“Yknow going unnoticed like that can save yea and others”

“If I can land a shot…”

“Which we’ll be workin’ on”

The basics, Y/N already knew and Daryl kept an eye on them along with their surroundings for any walkers while they loaded the bolt in and held their crossbow in the right position.

“Gotta widen your stance a bit, not too much but enough to plant yourself”

“How does that help with my aim?”

“Well. Best not to fall over when firin’”

“Mm. Okay” Y/N couldn’t argue with that but before they even could fire the bolt, the two heard a walker. But before Daryl could even get his own crossbow and tell Y/N to get behind him.

They discarded the crossbow and quickly grabbed a rock from the rock pile they had standing outside the cabin. Daryl looks at them confused as he ignored it to grab their crossbow that was already loaded and before he knew it, he watches Y/N climb a near by tree high enough and jump on the walker using the rock to crush its skull enough for them to swiftly take their knife out stabbing the gooey inside.

The sight was a bit horrific that Daryl wishes he could unsee it. But before he could try, he couldn’t help but notice the obvious.

“If yea had a knife, why didn’t yea use that to open the cans?”

“Cuz I had someone to do it for me! Then he died and I was alone for three days before you came” Y/N snaps as they took the rock they used to kill the walker returning it to the pile that clicked to Daryl.

It was a grave in a sense. Without the body.

“I’m sorry”

“Whatever…” They frown readjusting the rock formation a bit as Daryl handed their crossbow back once it was fixed to their liking. “So back to it?”

“Mhm”

A few hours of this and Daryl knew he should be heading back to his community before someone will come looking for him. Not that he needs rescuing. Y/N is harmless for the most part.

One last time, they loaded the bolt into their crossbow and aimed it for one of the cans as Daryl gently pushes the end down a bit to help. That’s when Y/N took the shot and finally got the center of the can.

“Fuck yes!”

“Nice shot”

The unfamiliar voice startled Y/N to hug their crossbow as Daryl quickly assured it was someone he knew that also knew how to sneak up on people unnoticed.

“You didn’t come back so Rick sent me” Carol smiles crossing her arms at the two archers seeing Y/N bring themselves to hide behind Daryl. “I’m not gonna bite. I’m a friend”

“Yeah this is my friend Carol, she’s nice”

“Only nice?” She scoffs.

“Fine, and she’s got an ego” Daryl smirks only to get smacked in the chest by Carol once she approached as Y/N tried to fight back the laugh that escaped them. “But yeah you can trust her, she ain’t scary”

“Nice, not scary. Total package” Carol smiles watching the kid relax faster with her than they did with Daryl as he really had to take into consideration that he did barge in in their home. “You know they can come with us”

“I can?” Y/N quickly looks up at Daryl watching him nod. “Can…uh”

“I can still help yea with working on your bow skills”

Now that lead Y/N to quickly collect their things which wasn’t much but gave the adults enough time to talk about the time Daryl has been gone.

“You know why right?”

“Why what?”

“Why you didn’t leave them” Carol continues to smile at the archer as she watches Y/N step out of the cabin approaching the rock pile once more and taking one into their grasp before they went to retrieve the bolt. “You saw yourself in them…all alone in the woods with no one…couldn’t bear to leave them alone like how you were”

“You gettin’ sappy on me is gonna make it rain again”

“You could just say you are gonna cry” She nudges him followed by a grunt from him and a short lived laugh from her. “They’ll be in good hands. I know for a fact”

Soon the three were on their way back to Alexandria, Y/N kept close to Daryl as this was all new to them that when they stopped a few feet away from the gate…Daryl went to their side and taking it at their speed. Carol wishes she could document it for the books…

Alexandria’s crossbow duo

[deadheaddaisy]

🩷💛

???

🩷 Pink: Do you find a certain character (or characters) easy to write? More difficult -- and if so, do you avoid writing that character (or those characters) when possible?

So far I've really only written Malcolm and Hoshi, and I find them incredibly easy to write since I'm taking their canon characters and what I perceive as said character dynamics, and then just - tweaking. Based on interactions in the show.

More difficult? That'll probably be when I get to T'Pol and Archer, particularly the latter. I have a WIP that includes them and Trip, and I think I've done fairly well, but I'll need others who know them better to advise me (yay beta readers!). I guess Trip might also be a bit difficult, at least unless I focus on him as Malcolm's friend. I may also be riffing off fanfics I've read where I really like their iteration of Trip. So no, I don't necessarily avoid writing characters - I just haven't needed them in my fics as yet.

💛 Yellow: Do you ever alter, highlight, or de-emphasize certain canonical traits in a character? If so, why and describe how.

As I said above, I take canon Hoshi and Malcolm and tweak them slightly based on interactions during the show. There was also a great conversation on a Discord server recently that articulated what I could not, which is that they recognise kindred spirits in each other because both grew up somewhat isolated - him with a disapproving father, her as a language prodigy who was tutored instead of schooled.

Hoshi is also often mischaracterised as being afraid throughout the series, which is patently not true. You try being thrown out of Starfleet after breaking your Commander's arm, becoming a professor where you have some autonomy, returning to Starfleet to go into space when you were never planning to, and relying on this spaceship that is constantly under attack to keep you safe from the vastness of space?

She overcomes her fear in Fight and Flight and saves the ship; steps up in Sleeping Dogs (and impresses Malcolm with her determination about the torpedoes), she insists that she can handle being left with Tarquin in Exile - and uses her wits to outsmart him; she tries to get back to the bridge when she's clearly injured in Minefield.

Plus Hoshi was a sass machine from day one, particularly with T'Pol. She's mischievous, and funny, and she wants to learn, and Malcolm knows that. She's not out to waste his time, and he appreciates that about her. And she soaks up his lessons and his insights, even after the incident in the mess hall. She understands that he's not always great at social skills, and doesn't let the incident put her off befriending him.

And Malcolm is a very encouraging person. He'd be a good teacher (and he is, to the extent that by Season 3, Hoshi is taking over phase rifle training for the villagers from Marauders). He encourages Travis, he encourages Hoshi, he's not afraid to admit that he's a little worried about using the transporter in The Andorian Incident but he encourages his staff member who expresses concern. He very likely took the flack for the snowman so Travis would have a fun first experience with snow, and he is, of course, already friends with Travis from Broken Bow.

He's also far more in touch with his emotions than people think - how he dealt with Shuttlepod One and imminent death was pragmatic and aimed at helping those left behind - hence the letters - not being pessimistic and railing against the unfairness of it like Trip. Also I don't understand why people think he's the difficult one when Trip can't handle his own emotions. But that's a rant for another day.

Yes, he loses his rag with Hayes, but after over two years of having your security and tactical concerns dismissed, wouldn't you be angry that someone from a lower rank is suddenly being listened to instead of you? By your own captain?

ANYWAY. That's my long-winded way of saying that I write those two from a somewhat different perspective than is shown on the screen, and also in a lot of fanfic. They're not the stiff-upper-lip Brit and the shy and frightened ensign they're made out to be. They're good at what they do, they strive to be better, they're in touch with their emotions (and use their words like adults), they're friends and confidants (including with Travis) and - in my fics at least, and in deleted scenes - there was a little spark between them. So that's how I write them. Competent adults who learn and grow throughout the series.

Thanks for the ask!

[arisenreborn]

∞ Arisen & Pawn Character Introductions

At last, I have finally "completed" my own darn template 😂 I mixed it up a little, putting the gratuitously long Q&A stuff further down below, but honestly, all of it is gratuitously long winded so I commend you on your bravery for clicking 'read more'. (Blank is here if you're interested! :D)

♛ THE ARISEN:

NAME: Reverie Orlaith AGE: 23~26 (orphaned, it's difficult to know precisely and her aging is slightly different as a half-elf) RACE: Half-Elf PRONOUNS: She/Her PREFERRED VOCATION: Warfarer - Archer, Thief, Magick Archer, Mystic Spearhand - in that order (I'm cheating oops) FAVORED GIFTS: Moonblooms, books, knives, seashells, blank journals. FAMILY: Father (elf), Mother (human) - The Nameless Village

POSITIVE TRAITS: Caring, protective, determined. Very laid-back and gentle-natured, has a 'hopeful, romantic' perception and approach to most things, but not without a good, balancing pinch of realism. Can, at times, be surprisingly shrewd and calculating, as if out of old habit, though it's rarely cold in nature. NEGATIVE TRAITS: Stubborn, reckless, cares more for others than herself which isn't always a good thing. Occasionally prone to accidents (and resulting injury). Comes across as lazy on the surface at times (though it couldn't really be further from the truth, but first impressions and all), she is however very sleepy and lethargic and sometimes has very muted expressions that may give a wrong impression. Has a hidden vicious streak when provoked. LIKES: Rann, seeing rare sights, romantic stories, music (listening, singing, and playing the lute), griffins, autumn, when she catches Rann looking at her. Has a slight, odd, fascination with the sea. DISLIKES: Ogres, ogre drool, being covered in ogre drool and having no access to brineless water. Most of the weather/conditions in Battahl. Mistreatment of Pawns, giving orders to Pawns, being put on a pedestal, others being put in harms way for her sake.

♟︎ THE PAWN:

NAME: Avierann 'Rann' Trevelyan AGE: ??? (possibly in the hundreds or even thousands, but his memory does not accurately reflect this) RACE: Pawn - Elven PRONOUNS: He/They PREFERRED VOCATION: Mage/Sorcerer, Fighter, Archer (in that order) FAVORED GIFTS: Books, tea leaves, bath salts and soaps, magical items. INCLINATION: Kindhearted (+ a touch of Calm because that's how he started)

POSITIVE TRAITS: Steadfast and attentive, he's quick to spot trouble and just as quick to solve the problem. Very sharp memory (despite some questionable foggy spots concerning his past). As a chirurgeon he's also good at discerning illness and other ailments, able to swiftly administer aide be it through magical or herbal remedies. Polite and dutiful, he possesses a kind and caring heart, and even comes across as charming in his own way, and he often helps folks with all manner of problems around town when they're at home. (As a result of this, despite being a Pawn, he seems to have a small 'fan following' among some of Vernworth's populace.) There is also a degree of cleverness, and a studious mind inclined deeply towards learning. NEGATIVE TRAITS: Protectiveness at times borders on possessiveness. A little vain at times tbh, he likes to dress well and keep up with his appearance which really isn't the worst thing but he feels at times that it's unnecessary to his duty. Though he keeps it quiet and you'd be hard-pressed to spot it, he secretly harbors a mostly 'scientific' but definitely slightly sadistic interest in the ways offensive magic 'reacts' with living creatures (this is solely in regards to their enemies though, he wouldn't pursue it beyond that). That may also stem somewhat from that protectiveness... As the story progresses, he shows a subtle but increasingly playful habit of gently teasing Reverie (he seems to enjoy flustering her). LIKES: Reverie, tea, learning pretty much anything - so books and new experiences are highly valued, the hot springs, listening to the music at inns and taverns, stargazing. Even in a city he tends to find some place he can enjoy the stars for a while at night. DISLIKES: Ogres, schemes involving Reverie - or any who would take advantage of her, the Godsway, very heavy/bulky (see: unflattering) armor - also wearing anything over his hair, dishonorable Arisen, drakes. The Pathfinder. He also has complicated feelings towards the former Arisen of this world that border close to dislike, but is more akin to discomfort.

Long Q&A Answers below!

1. What was their life like before becoming Arisen?

In a cycle before this one, she was born to a traveling merchant who'd chanced to have a rather intimate affair with a handsome elf. Details about that cycle are scarce at this point, but as Arisen she got very close to the truth of the world before failing. In this cycle, she seemingly washed ashore from nowhere, not far from the Nameless Village. She was very young, though it was difficult to determine her actual age on account of her elven lineage. Though not formally adopted by any one person, she was more or less cared for by the entire village, and grew up like any other child there learning the craft of thievery. For the most part she lived on an assumption of contentment; she had people who cared for her, people she cared for. Life wasn't always easy, and their lives were far from virtuous, but she was happy for all intents and purposes. Or at least, she had no overt reason to be unhappy. And yet she had a sense of wonder that went beyond that life. In her work she saw the world through a mask of sorts, caught glimpses of what life was like for paupers and princes alike - always held at a careful distance, because getting too close to any of it was a risk. But oh did she want to touch and taste all of it, to experience the world without the mantle of subterfuge. There was also a deep sense of 'something missing', but she often chalked that up to her origins; she had no recollection prior to washing ashore of where she'd come from. There were, however, the tattooed marks and scars on her body that seemed to weave a tale in a language foreign. Even before Disa stole her memories, she'd had a sense much of her life that she was forgetting something important. Then she got a job to infiltrate the guard stationed at Melve - ostensibly to gather information on the goals of Disa and her scheming (though to what end, is unremembered). It was of course there she came face-to-face with the dragon, became Arisen, and would soon after have memories of all else washed away.

2. How do they handle being Arisen, and the responsibilities that come with it?

She takes it all in stride, trying to focus on one task at a time. Having no memories means the present and the goals set before her are, initially at least, 'all she has (to go on)'. At the start of things, she is almost Pawn-like in her lack of personal input, despite an underlying twinge of discomfort that she would only fully understand a little later on. As a fuller awareness and grasp of things begins to come into effect, she is almost grimly resolute. The lack of her beating heart in her chest, the charge she is given, all of it weighs heavy on her. Part of her holds onto a sliver of naive hope (she knows it's naive, though how she isn't sure, it's a twisted feeling in her gut) that it'll turn out like the storybooks and legends say: She'll defeat the Dragon, become Sovran, and all will be well. Either way, it's something only she can do, and do it she must.

3. What are their thoughts on Pawns in general?

At the beginning, they felt similar to her, seemingly devoid of purpose or goal. The quietness in her mind and soul felt a comfort initially - and then the more she interacted with humans she felt a slight schism, and became more aware of what she was actually missing. But her thoughts and feelings on Pawns themselves are born of great love. She loathes the idea of commanding them, and refrains as much as possible from doing so in a way that would demean them (the occasional sharp order in the heat of battle to save them notwithstanding). Even knowing that they cannot 'truly die', seeing them perish or in pain grieves her deeply, and it's something she scarcely seems capable of getting used to. She will absolutely put herself between them and harm, and despises seeing any ill treatment of them. Though perhaps 'hopelessly naive', she wishes to believe there could be so much more for them than the lots they've been given.

4. What's their relationship like with their main Pawn?

"Sacred simplicity". She didn't summon him with any real intention or desire - she barely had a clear idea of what she was doing, though it was somewhat instinctive. At best, she had a feeling akin to faith that fumbling in the darkness, a hand would take hers. Having little idea of pretty much anything that was going on, Rann was her lifeline. It wasn't like she was incapable of taking care of herself in those early days, but she was definitely pretty bad at it: realizing she was exhausted and overdoing it, forgetting to eat or bathe, etc. Fortunately she did pretty quickly catch onto the most basic of things, but she can still comfortably rely on him for many things she lacks in (like navigating Vernworth's labyrinthine streets). Though she's made connections with others, it's Rann that has been with her through everything, and there's no replacing that. She feels most at peace when he is near, and uncomfortable when they're apart for any reason or length of time. To say there's a degree of co-dependency wouldn't be entirely false, but they both gradually learn from that dependence and grow 'through' it. Early on she struggles with her own emotions at times and making sense of how they 'fit in her', in a sense, as someone with scant memories to reference them from. Though it's a little messy at first, she does gradually and clearly recognize her feelings for Rann, and to a small extent begrudges them. She mislikes the idea that he'd never truly refuse her, so she feels she can't be entirely honest about those feelings. He'll often enough say outrageously sweet things that fluster all hell out of her, and she begrudges him for that too at times. Yet all the same, she will at times tell him she loves him, with all the outward appearance of friendship and warmth because that is absolutely part of it, and because she thinks it's important to share that kind of sentiment with someone, and that he needs to hear it. It's one of the few ways she can repay him for all he does for her, though she would surely do anything for him.

5. Do they have any interest in being Sovran? What are their opinions on the politics of the world in general?

In a word, 'no'. She's somewhat resigned to it? In a matter-of-fact sort of way; she sees how corrupt things are at the moment so she has a pretty """easy""" path to (trying/starting to) correct that. She wants so very dearly to improve things for Pawns everywhere, though, and if being Sovran meant she might be in a better position to do that, then she finds it more appealing, even if still not something she'd prefer. In her eyes though she'd rather 'warm the seat' for Sven, more or less.

6. Who are their love interest(s) and/or closest friends?

She has a good working relationship with Klaus, and as she was gradually getting a handle on 'being a person' again early on, there may have been some playful flirting going-on there, that she later had to regretfully clear up when she realized she'd unintentionally misled him - though they remain on good terms. Sven is probably her closest friend apart from Rann, though. She helped him without much thought (and again, purely intuitively), but as they met and spoke more, with her gradually coming out of her fog, she found talking to him 'grounding' in a sense. Perhaps surprisingly, looking at his position and 'limitations' made clearer to her the freedoms and power available to her. She sees how genuinely he wants to help and make things better, and that encourages her to do more where she is able. She has a fast friendship with Glyndwr and Doireann, feeling almost a sense of 'a home and family she never had'. There's this slightly warm, slightly bittersweet longing and comfort around the Sacred Arbor, feeling at once like she might have found a place of belonging there, and also that she never truly will. Things are a little complicated with Srail... They clearly have history together, but he's evasive about it despite obviously having some care for her. As far as the thieves of the Nameless Village are concerned, her becoming Arisen was a dangerous complication - and her loss of memory more or less fixed that. So while they do still care for and support her from the shadows, they're reluctant to go sharing all her history and secrets with her. Likewise, while she feels a sense of 'home' and comfort around them, especially Srail, she also feels genuinely abandoned, that they just 'cut her loose' and left her in a terrible situation to fend for herself. Nonetheless, what little she has managed to glean of her past through them does give her comfort and some better understanding of herself. (For his part, Srail believes that she's free now, to live a life better suited for her.) Last but furthest from least of course is Rann. I got into it above needless to say she desires for nothing so long as he is with her. Even her lack and loss of memories becomes less of a discomfort and distress and simply a void easily enough filled with him. Though she has many she cares for, and indeed fights for, at the end of the day she's as much compelled forward by him and he is her.

7. What drew them to their preferred vocation? Do they have history with it?

Reverie is lethal with a bow, of that there can be no mistake. This may, perhaps, come from an extensive history with the weapon: in a prior cycle, she was raised on the road, and hunting was a helpful craft to have - on top of this, she and her mother would at times visit her father, and he would teach her the elven approach to archery as well. But what is known to have had a clear effect is that in this cycle, her skill with a bow was nearly peerless among those in the Nameless Village. Whenever they had need of a sharpshooter, she was tasked with the mission at hand. Just what some of those jobs might have entailed is perhaps better left forgotten. Free of such memories and responsibilities, it's something that 'feels right', something she excels at and can put to use in tangible ways protecting her allies and foraging for food. (Naturally, she is similarly good with dual blades, and it does feel comfortable to her, but she is prone to getting a bit too reckless in the thick of things much to Rann's dismay.)

8. Do they have any hobbies? Any way of relaxing between all that monster-slaying and traveling?

When they first started traveling Rann encouraged her to journal as a means of keeping her thoughts and goals straight. It was a bothersome chore at first, but it's since become a comforting past-time, something she does every night before bed: Taking note of the things they did, saw, battled, the people they met and spoke to, the special little memories or things said and shared with her traveling companions. (She also loves reading, but in particular romantic books she'd be Very embarrassed to be caught with her nose pressed into.) Similar to how naturally she picked up the bow and daggers, she also found herself drawn to the lute - though with significant less prowess. She understood the basics, though, and Klaus and Rann both helped her hone those skills further. She doesn't like the idea of carrying her lute with her on her travels, sadly, afraid that it would get destroyed, but it's one of her favorite things to do when they're home. Less of a hobby but she also just quite enjoys napping. A peaceful sun-warmed nap beneath a tree in the middle of the day, or curled up in bed or under a tent while the rain patters gently, or dozing off with her head on Rann's shoulder on an oxcart - what could be more relaxing and rejuvenating?

1. What was their life like prior to being summoned by their Arisen?

The murky depths of the Rift stretch out like a dream, touching the edges of the recognizable world. There, they clarify into form, but nothing beyond what he needs here, and now. Before his cognitive self took shape, his 'heart' came from the Pawn of another world. Within the rift he waited, until Reverie called upon him - but that was in a Cycle before this one. With her they journeyed, fought, and nearly reached the truth of the world - but instead stumbled upon Bitterblack Isle. What exactly happened there is likely forever lost, but for the sake of an answer, they traveled with another Arisen, Vincent, and something happened to Reverie... What resulted was Vincent and Rann emerging from Bitterblack Isle and taking up the fight into a new Cycle. Together they traveled, coming closer still to the truth of the world - But this too would be lost, 'unnecessary' for a Pawn to remember in the advent of the next Cycle. What he remembers is fighting a terrible foe alongside an Arisen he did care for deeply, perishing, and then... the stretching darkness of the Rift. He has recollections of traveling with soldiers, mercenaries, adventurers, even other Arisen - of traveling the world looking, waiting, preparing for her. But the only thing that matters now is this present reality.

2. What is their opinion on the Arisen? How do they view their relationship?

To use a classic, she is the sun and he is the moon. "He shines with the light she gives him", or so he feels. He feels he has sought her out his entire life, and now that he has found her it has truly begun. Yet, unlike the understood order that Pawns exist to aid the Arisen in their fight against the dragon, he finds he is most fulfilled in the more mundane tasks: Shopping for supplies, tidying their abode, cooking meals, making sure she doesn't get lost around the city. When he sees her playing with the orphans in the slums or making deliveries for her friends, there is a sense of: 'This is what our lives should be like,' without looming threats and grand responsibilities hanging over their heads. To be clear, most of it starts and stems from her. 'She' should have peace, and simple pleasures, and the freedom to do all that she wants - and then gradually he does include himself into that ideal painting as well. As she often tells him how she cares for him, and how happy she is to have him by her side, he cannot deny her - or himself. He loves her so much it consumes him. The gentle, calm grace of her, the whirlwind of violence she can embody, the kindness she offers - he loves all of it. She is so fiercely independent to the world and yet she relies and leans on him like no other, and that is an honor he will spend his life happily living up to. But there is absolutely a hurdle there that he is actively tripping over almost all of the time. He is often in a sort of conflict between his own initial lack of will, his inevitable growth of feelings, his belief in his duty and their greater destiny, and more importantly his belief in her. Ultimately he comes to hope that they can achieve their goals, thereby freeing themselves from their duties.

3. Is there anything about the Arisen they find troublesome? Be it a small quirk or bad habit? (Or are they obviously flawless?)

Her recklessness, certainly, or the fact that she worries more for the Pawns' safety and well-being than her own. He's tried to remind her many, many times that they will be fine even if they are 'killed', but that the same cannot be said for her. Though, by this point, he's all but given up, instead dedicating that energy to accommodating what he cannot change. It also troubles him when she goes off on her own, though he understands it to be necessary at times.

4. What is their specialization and is there any story behind how they cultivated that skill set?

Rann is a chirurgeon, though how he came to such a calling is a bit vague. If asked, he would answer that it was of course for the Arisen -for Reverie- as she tends to get a bit reckless from time-to-time, and that on account of his spellwork sometimes falling short in their early days, it was only natural to fall back on curatives. Once upon a time, in another cycle, this was true. And yet, in the cycle that followed, his pursuit of all magic, all research into the potential of curative potions, became a desperate, frenzied madness. Such memories have been lost to the ages he slept in the rift, however. As things are now, it's something that simply comes naturally to him, and serves the same purpose as ever. He takes a measure of genuine satisfaction in researching the various uses of herbal remedies, and how they can be combined to different effects.

5. Do they have any thoughts on the politics of the world and their place in it as a Pawn - or how Pawns are treated?

"It is what it is," mostly. There is no higher honor than serving the Arisen, and at last he has found his Arisen. (In some strange, twisted way, it's almost as if the roles of 'Arisen' and 'Pawn' are merely hyper-convenient excuses, because he feels with unrelenting certainty that even were he an ordinary man he would swear himself to her always.) He does believe that the Arisen is deserving of the position of Sovran given all that they do, but beyond that he doesn't have a personal interest in politics - yet he will absolutely study up on any necessities to better assist Reverie. That said, he is keenly aware of how Pawns are treated from one place to the next, and is rather uncomfortable when travels take them to Battahl. The more he begins to grow into his own feelings and will, the more he wishes this for all Pawns, and genuinely echoes Reverie's wishes to see them treated equally as men.

6. Does their journey with the Arisen change them in any significant way and how?

Ahah, yeah. So first of all, to pull back the curtain a little, he had already undergone a degree of 'Bestowal of Spirit' in previous cycles, so in some ways he had a 'head start' on that. (To pull the curtain much further, "Rann, Yume, and Vincent" are characters from my OG verse who are inextricably bound, so while Vincent's role in DD is 'minor', his impact is very significant.) This is their 'happy ending, everything works out after lifetimes and lifetimes of trying to get it right and failing terribly'. At last he has culminated a will of his own, albeit from pieces of his two masters. So this slightly delves into my "ideal dream post-game scenario", but no overt spoilers: 'To be loved is to be changed', and he basks in the warmth and light of her love. All the array of emotions he's felt, the desire -not just the Pawns urge but his- to protect her and give her a future. It went beyond mere duty and became his hope and dream - and furthermore to share that future with her. He becomes more confident and independent, assured in his sole significance to Reverie; if she is the sun, it's natural the only one fit to stand beside her is the moon, surely. He even occasionally teases her (lightheartedly) to get a reaction out of her. Early on, he understood that there was a barrier between them: she had feelings for him, but felt that she couldn't 'trust' his feelings for her - and he had no idea how to properly convey those feelings in a way that would be satisfactory to her. Teasing and occasionally 'defying' her is usually how he does that. (Things like, picking her up and carrying her around despite her flustered protests.) (On the flipside of all the sweetness, he also got more sadistic [albeit subtly, gracefully even] about destroying their enemies. He wants anyone who would dare to hurt her obliterated and takes a smug satisfaction in doing so.)

7. Is there a reason they chose their preferred vocation?

(OG Rann is a magitech specialist and court mage, so in my heart-of-hearts, peeling back the matryoshka doll of reincarnation stories, OG Rann exists even before DD1 Rann and that all rolls down into DD2 Avierann, so-!) "It simply felt natural to him", though that's not entirely true. He was always drawn towards magic and the wonder of it - the myriad possibilities for healing, protection, destruction. It makes an obvious go-to for service to the Arisen. (But because this worlds magic is different, and his underlying soul was reaching towards the familiar-) He had a hard time actually getting a grasp on magic initially. Yet it's precisely because he had to go through and really work hard at even the most basic levels that he's become a master capable of creating new, ground-breaking spells that most humans would balk at a Pawn being capable of (I like to imagine he originally perfected some of the maister skills himself). It's also what makes him such a good teacher!

8. Do they have any hobbies or preferred past-times?

He enjoys making his own blends of teas, and perfecting drinks that soothe any number of ailments from colds to sleeplessness. He also genuinely enjoys magic and medical/medicinal research, and finding new ways of applying old techniques to new fields. Learning, in general, is probably the broadest yet most comprehensive answer. He eats everything up, and has a nigh-"photographic" memory. Be it reading books, exploring ruins, or listening to storytellers or bards, he loves piecing together history and shared knowledge. Branching from that, he has an appreciation for stargazing and charting the stars. (Reverie loves to listen to stories about the constellations, and in truth it was actually Vincent who shared most of those stories with Rann once upon a time.) Finally, music. It's a strange one, for sure. He feels drawn to it like magic, but as if there's a wall within his very soul that keeps him from truly connecting with it. It's only gradually, as Reverie asks him to teach, play, and sing with her, that he begins to feel his joy for it be nourished.

If you read this far you're amazing and I love you and am blessing your crops and I hope something so good happens to/for you. <3

[foxcantswim]

Who Are You? Chapter 4 || F!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Y/N is in love with Wanda... But Wanda is in love with Spider Noir. The thing is, Y/N and Spider Noir are the same person - But Wanda doesn't know that. Y/N has a secret identity to uphold. (Everyone lives AU - Set after DS:MoM)

F!Spider!Avenger!Reader x Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Words: 3.2k

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Slight Injury, Jealous Wanda, KatexYelena if you squint, Identity Reveal(?)

You and Wanda were waiting in the break room an hour before you were due to leave for patrol, you were resting up as much as you could... Well, as much as you could with a pair of chaotic assassins around.

"Are you ready for your patrol...?" Yelena trailed off.

You nodded, "Noir."

"Noir," she nodded with a hum, "Mysterious. I like it."

Wanda was shooting daggers at the blonde, her eyes burning into the back of her head.

"First you harass Y/N yesterday, and now Noir?" Natasha laughed as she entered the room.

"I am not harassing!" Yelena exclaimed, clearly offended.

"Why don't you go bother that Bishop girl instead?" her sister suggested.

You quickly interrupted, "If it means anything, I don't mind her being here."

Yelena smirked in victory, "See! I am a delight to be around. I am simply making conversation." You couldn't help but laugh.

Natasha raised her hands up in surrender, "Okay. You got me."

"Are you guys usually up at this time?" you questioned them both.

The pair nodded, "Yes. My sleep schedule is a bit errrr... non-existent," Yelena answered, Natasha quickly agreed.

"I'm kind of concerned," you replied.

"I've been trying to get Yelena to sleep," another voice caught your attention, "But she flat out refuses."

"Kate Bishoooop!" Yelena exclaimed, walking over to the girl, "So nice of you to join us."

"I knew you would be up to something so I came to put a stop to it," Kate replied, her eyebrow raised.

The blonde rolled her eyes, "Why does everybody assume I'm up to no good? I'm the innocent one here."

You introduced yourself to the young archer before Natasha moved in to greet her, too.

As Natasha and Kate hugged, you turned towards the table and grabbed a water bottle before swiftly lifting up your mask slightly - you took a couple long gulps of water before placing the bottle back down.

A certain blonde assassin raised an eyebrow towards you once you lowered your mask, "Huh..." she said.

"W-What?" you said, nervously.

"Nothing," Yelena laughed to herself.

You were about to question her but Yelena quickly turned back towards Kate. Natasha decided to back her sister up, "For once, she isn't actually causing any trouble."

"Well, that's good," Kate nodded, "I'm impressed."

"I am reformed," she grabbed Kate's hand and kissed the back of it before dragging the girl towards the door, "We're off to train. Time to show baby hawk how I fight when she doesn't have any trick arrows up her sleeve."

"Er- Lena I'm not sure-"

"Good luck with patrol!" Yelena exclaimed over her shoulder, Kate was crying for help as they disappeared down the hall.

Natasha cleared her throat, "I should probably go after them. Yelena doesn't exactly hold back."

"Have fun," you replied, silently wishing you could see the sparring session. Natasha made her leave.

You glanced over at Wanda who was sitting at a small table in the corner, you approached her with a smile - even though she couldn't physically see you smile.

"Hello, Noir," she greeted, taking a careful sip of her hot drink.

"Hey, little witch," you replied, taking a seat next to her, "Why do you look so blue?"

She sighed, "No reason. I guess I'm just a little tired."

You nudged her shoulder, "We're in this together, you and me."

Wanda smiled at your response. She was glad that you were with her tonight.

You and Wanda had officially made it to 11pm. Both of you were nervous and excited to find out what would happen tonight despite already being extremely tired.

"Good luck out there," Tony slapped on your back, "Wanda. You're in charge," he looked towards the witch.

"I-I am?" she asked, shocked.

You glared at Tony before nudging him, "Am I not good enough for you, old man?"

"No," he simply said before walking away, he looked over his shoulder and smirked towards you.

"I hate you," you muttered before turning to Wanda.

Tony called before he left the room, "Jane and Sam are on call if you need backup tonight. Your shift ends at 5am." He soon exited the room, leaving both you and Wanda alone.

As much as you wanted to go out with Wanda for the night, the fact that you had to stay out till that time was starting to put you off.

Wanda smiled, "Ready to go?"

You nodded, "Yep. Here's hoping I can make it to five in the morning," a sigh managed to escape you, "At least if I do end up falling asleep you won't know because of the mask," you motioned towards your face.

"Oh, I'll know if you fall asleep," Wanda assured before heading towards the door, you were quick on her heels.

"And how is that?"

"I can read minds, remember?"

A nervous laugh escaped you, "Then why have you never read mine? You can find out who I am just like that."

She sighed as you two exited the building, "I can't lie to you. I have tried."

A wave of relief washed over you, "I'm assuming the blockers actually work, then?"

"Blockers?" she asked before ascending into the sky.

"Yes. Blockers. The day after I met Stephen, I asked if he could help me out with keeping my identity even more of secret," you had to run across the grass as there were no buildings to attach to, the trees in the distance would be your only choice to latch on, "I'm surprised you didn't try before that."

Wanda's voice turned sour, she called down to you, "So Stephen knows who you are and I don't?"

"No! Stephen doesn't know! He helped me with the blockers in my head and he didn't need to know my identity to do that. I promise, he doesn't know."

Wanda had a scowl on her face, but it quickly dropped as she sighed, "Y-Yeah, sorry," she realised that she was working herself up.

"It's okay," you understood. You knew that Wanda would be extremely upset if anyone found out your identity before she did, "You know you'll be the first to know who I really am."

Wanda couldn't stop the smile from appearing on her face, "Thank you, Noir."

The two of you finally made it to the treeline, meaning you could join Wanda up in the sky using your webs. You did your best to stay by her side as much as you could, but of course she had to make it a competition as she slowly flew a little higher.

"Wands!" you groaned, "That's not fair!"

"I guess you're just beneath me, Noir," she smirked.

"I'll beat you one day, little witch!" you exclaimed, trying to zip as fast as you could towards the city - Making it a race between you and the Scarlet Witch.

Well. Wanda won. But you chose to ignore that fact.

The moonlight illuminated Wanda's face as you watched her instead of the city down below. The pair of you had taken a seat on a relatively high building in order to watch the streets down below, your legs dangling off the edge of the rooftop. There was plenty of chatter coming from drunk girls leaving a club, a few guys were following them - a wolf whistle was thrown, a punch arrived in the man's face in return. But it was definitely not an Avengers level threat to break apart some petty drunk teenagers. They all sprinted off round the corner, giggling and laughing amongst themselves.

"Did you ever go out to clubs?" you decided to ask.

Wanda shook her head, "No, not really. I've went to a bar here and there with the Avengers but... I had to grow up fast. I didn't have time for clubs."

"Well... Maybe we could go together one day?"

A laugh escaped Wanda, "With you dressed like that?"

You nudged her shoulder with a scoff, "Obviously not! I mean when I reveal my identity, little witch."

"So you're planning on it, then?" Wanda asked, hopefully.

"I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind these past few weeks," you sighed, looking back down at the street below, "I can't tell you when I will be ready, though."

"Take your time," she sighed in response, she understood you despite not liking the idea of having to wait for so long.

"I mean it when I say you will be the first to know, I promise."

"I know," Wanda completely trusted you at this point. All you had to do was not let her down...

A loud scream caught both of your attentions, your heads flicking over towards the source. It was coming from a few blocks away.

"You did say that a Saturday night wouldn't be a walk in the park," you laughed before standing, you offered Wanda a hand which she thankfully took. Her hand didn't stay in yours for long as she pulled it away almost immediately.

Wanda cleared her throat before stepping closer towards the edge of the roof, "At least this will wake us up, hm?"

The pair of you quickly leapt off the building, wasting no time in making your way towards the commotion.

Thugs. A lot of them.

They had taken a few people hostage within a bank, trying their best to break into the vaults. These civilians looked familiar to you... Ah yes, they were the people leaving the club only moments ago. They were being leverage. There were three thugs inside, and a couple more on the outside - guns in their hands.

"Child's play," you scoffed, looking around the corner towards the bank. You had dealt with plenty of robberies in the past. Nothing you couldn't handle.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Wanda warned from beside you.

Of course, you didn't listen. You immediately dashed around the corner and flung yourself towards the door, "I got this," you called back.

"Noir, wait-!" And of course, you were gone. Wanda was already in the process of calling for backup... She knew that you weren't going to be reasonable about this situation.

"Come on, guys! We can talk this out!" you exclaimed, approaching the group slowly.

"Back off, Spidey!" a tall man shouted from just outside the front door, a gun pressed to the side of the woman's head ,"You come any closer, and I won't hesitate to shoot."

You raised your hands up, "Hey, hey... Woah... I just wanna talk-"

"You're in no position to be making demands," another man said, this one slightly shorter than the last.

"You know you won't be allowed to leave after this, right?" you questioned.

The woman in the man's grasp began to sob, her eyes clenched shut, "Stop squirming, or-!"

You cut the first man off, "If you do anything to hurt her, you'll regret it."

"I'd like to know what you even plan on doing," the man simply scoffed.

"Noir!" Wanda exclaimed from behind you.

Your spider senses tingled at the sound of Wanda's voice. You quickly turned around and were greeted with even more threats. This time, a woman came up to you, "If I were you, I would leave," she said.

You were effectively surrounded.

That was when a flash of red entered your vision.

The woman in front of you had been hurled onto the ground, the other people thrown to the sides away from you, "I told you to wait!" Wanda exclaimed with anger, quickly running towards you. She manged to grab you just in time, she held her hand out and blocked the stray bullets that were being fired at you from the bank.

"Stop!" someone shouted from inside, "You want the whole police department on us?!" he shouted, his voice angry. The firing ceased. The people who were behind you had scattered, some running towards the bank - others running away down the streets, probably fearing that they would get caught.

Your spider senses tingled once again. There was still someone... a beeping noise soon filled your ears.

"Move!" you exclaimed, suddenly realising what it was. You pushed Wanda as far away from you as you could, the red shield in front of you flickered away.

The woman from before had stuck around and thrown a grenade, a red light was pulsating on the top of it as it rolled towards you.

The last thing you saw was Wanda's scared expression as she sat up from the dusty ground.

A red bubble had formed in front of Wanda on instinct, managing to block any debris from the blast of the grenade from hitting her, "You idiot!" she cried, letting the shield drop once the dust had settled. She stood up, her eyes a flaming red.

"One down. One to go," the woman chuckled.

Wanda didn't even let her approach, she was quickly hit with a strong blast of red magic - sending her into a nearby brick wall.

Wanda placed a finger to her ear in an instant, "Send Sam. Noir needs evac. I still have business to handle." She turned towards the bank and held her hands out, she grabbed a hold of everyone's guns and threw them to the ground. She sent a wave of magic out, knocking everyone to the ground - she made sure not to hurt the hostage in the crossfire.

After a few moments, the comms came to life, "Don't do anything reckless, Wanda," Steve spoke, "Get Noir to a safe space and let the others handle things." Wanda scoffed. If anyone was reckless, it was you. Not her.

The loud engines of a truck echoed through the streets, the noise grew closer and closer by the second.

"Wanda," Steve warned, "Back up is on the way. Get Noir to a safe position so evac can do their job."

Wanda made sure to grab hold of the woman who was taken hostage, lifting her up and away from the men. She shrieked as she was quickly pulled towards Wanda, "Get out of here. Everyone else will be fine," Wanda assured, releasing the woman onto the ground.

"T-Thank you!" she exclaimed before running away.

"Wanda!" Steve exclaimed once again.

"Okay!" Wanda shouted, pure anger fuelling her.

That was when her eyes landed back on your shattered, clearly unconscious form.

She pushed her anger aside, her eyes watering as she lifted you into her arms, her breathing was erratic, "Come on, Noir. Don't you dare go dying on me." She was trying to convince herself that everything was going to be fine. That you were going to be fine.

Wanda managed to haul you up as she flew into the air, making her way towards the roof of a nearby building - away from the danger below. She eventually collapsed onto the rooftop with you still in her arms, your head was rested down against her lap.

"Noir? Come on, Noir," she shook your shoulder gently, but still no response. Panic quickly started to set in. A shaky hand came up towards you neck, her goal was check your pulse to make sure you at least had an acceptable heartrate.

Her fingers pushed up your mask, just enough to be able to find your pulse. After a few moments of searching, Wanda sighed with relief.

That was when she realised just how close she was to you, her fingers remained on your pulse for a lot longer than necessary. It was almost comforting to know that you were still breathing, but then the thought of you being unconscious was enough to make Wanda tense up.

She moved her hand away and grabbed the bottom of the mask in order to pull it down... But she froze.

She could find out who you were. Right here, right now. All she had to do was lift up that mask a little more. And then she would finally be happy.

However, she was beginning to have an argument with herself. Lift the mask, don't lift the mask, lift, don't lift, lift- Her head started to pound. She could already picture the disappointment and distrust you would feel if she did in fact lift that mask up. But surely you would end up forgiving her in the long run? Right?

Without thinking, her fingers gripped the bottom of the mask tight and lifted ever so slightly. Wanda's heart began to beat erratically.

Was she really about to find out who you were?

Wanda continued before a sudden flash of lightning caused her to flinch, the sky lit up blue for a brief moment. On instinct, she pulled the mask back down - fully covering your neck once again. A disappointed sigh escaped her.

"Someone call for the Goddess of Thunder?" heavy footsteps landed behind her.

A jealous wave hit Wanda immediately.

"I thought Sam was supposed to be coming instead?" she cleared her throat, looking over her shoulder towards the blonde.

Jane nodded, "He thought it would be best if I carried Noir back to the compound. What with me being a lot stronger and faster, we both thought it would be the right choice. He's down there handling the last couple of goons, Tony too," she looked over the edge of the building, "And by the looks of things... It seems like they could use your help."

Reluctantly, Wanda allowed Jane to pick Noir up - the blonde managed to hold you tight over her shoulder with one hand. The other hand gripped Mjolnir hard.

"Okay," Wanda sighed as she stood, "Just... get her to the medbay as soon as possible."

"Yes, ma'am," Jane smiled before flinging herself upwards and flying off into the distance.

Wanda couldn't help but glare as Jane flew away with you. There was just something about certain blondes that she didn’t like.

You were awoken by bright lights. Your muscles ached, your breathing laboured.

Upon glancing around, as your vision came back, you realised that you were in the medbay. The lighting on the ceiling was unnecessarily bright, you immediately felt a banging headache coming on - you suddenly remember getting hit in the back of the head, the throbbing pain soon returned.

You were completely alone within the medbay. At least... you thought you were.

"Well, well, well..." a familiar voice filled your ears, "You are extremely reckless, Y/N."

You reached a hand up, your fingers felt the material of the mask still covering your face. That was when you started to panic, a shaky breath escaped you as you turned towards the intruder.

You did the one thing you didn't want to do. You let Wanda down. Because someone other than her had found out your secret identity before she did.

I hope you all have a pleasant day!

Tag list:  @screechcat ; @princess-kennys-rats ; @lissaaaa145 ; @maris-astrum ; @marvelogic ; @moonliqhtszn ; @charl-lally ; @an-evergreen-rose ; @almosttoopizza​ ; @daenerys713​ ; @yenmaximoff​ ; @lezzbehonesturhaught​ ; @angryraisin​ ; @capswife​ ; @localarcherwriter​ ; @wandaslittlewhore​ ; @wandanatstan​ ; @wizardofstories​ ; @justyourwritter69​ ; @m-h-r-h​ ; @fxckmiup​ ; @paaandiculations​ ; @kacka84​ ; @darling-im-the-queen-of-hell​ ; @mymommawanda​ ; @amessbian​ ; @cmfouatslota77​ ; @lol1415lol (not tagging properly :c)

If I left anyone out, I’m sorry! Love you all!

[deepspacedukat]

Hello ✨ For your consideration: slightly tipsy Commander Shran flirting with/trying to impress you (a member of Archer's crew). Just imagine the posturing and his antennae focusing on you so much that it's obvious to literally everyone there (even the humans) that he's trying to flirt with you, despite his attempts to be subtle. ����

Oh, nonny...I absolutely ✨H U N G E R✨ for tipsy Shran. Not the severely-compromised type of tipsy, mind you. Just enough to make him a little more bold and a little lot less subtle in his flirtations than he might normally. Lose those inhibitions, bb!

I realize this was probably not meant as a fic request, but...you’ve given me ideas that I just had to put into writing. GOD, I had so much fun writing this, I can’t even express it properly. Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

One Too Many

Thy’lek Shran x Reader

[A/N: Head empty. No thoughts. Only tipsy Shran.]

Warnings: Tipsy Andorian flirting, Shran as The Least Subtle Flirt In Existence™, slightly suggestive language, pre-relationship fluff, interspecies kissing.

~*~

He was looking at me again from across the room with a glass of Andorian ale as blue as his skin half-empty in one of his hands. The tilt of his antennae was a dead giveaway to what he was thinking about - or rather who.

“He’s going to stare a hole through your clothes if he’s not careful, but who knows? Maybe that’s what he’s aiming for,” Hoshi said giving me a little nudge with her elbow. “That Andorian’s been undressing you with his eyes since the reception began, and I don’t think there are many people here tonight that haven’t caught on.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Sarcasm laced my tone, but I didn’t hate that she was right. Somewhere along the line tonight, Shran’s casual glances in my direction had become...well...less subtle. I couldn’t help but wonder if that corresponded to how much he’d had to drink. Alcohol could even make me look good, I mused as I took a small sip of my own drink. I was still on my first of the night. After all, this was a diplomatic function. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of the Andorians, the Vulcans, and the Starfleet higher-ups. Apparently, Commander Shran didn’t have the same concerns. Oh, he definitely wasn’t drunk, but he’d had a few drinks. If I had to guess, I’d have said that ‘tipsy’ was a more appropriate descriptor for the Andorian’s condition. “He’s never seen humans in anything but Starfleet uniforms before, so I’m willing to bet he’s probably just not used to my appearance.”

“Right. Because you definitely don’t look hot in that dress,” Hoshi snarked. “Shran’s about as subtle as a photon torpedo when it comes to you. He already hangs around you every time our ships meet up. Are you going to at least talk to him? I think he might self-destruct if you don’t.”

As I was thinking about how to answer her, I glanced over where he’d been standing a few moments before only to find his spot vacant. Oh. Well, that settled that.

“I guess I missed my chance,” I said finishing off the last of my drink, setting my empty glass aside, and trying not to sound as disappointed as I felt. Hoshi went to say something then broke out in a wide smile.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” she murmured, but before I could ask what she meant, somebody began tapping their glass in the seemingly-universal signal for a large group to be silent for a moment. Turning to see what was going on, I saw Commander Shran not ten feet away as the crowd began to grow quiet. Once everyone was looking at him, he exchanged his empty glass for two full glasses of Andorian ale from a passing waiter’s tray.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and others, I believe I speak for both the Andorian and Vulcan delegations when I say a sincere ‘thank you’ to our hosts for orchestrating such a lovely evening for us all,” Shran said beginning to move slowly through the crowd. “I’d like you all to join me in an Earth tradition - a toast. Please raise your glasses and have a drink with me.”

Before I could react, the Andorian stopped in front of me and offered me the second drink he’d picked up. With the whole room watching, I accepted with a quiet nod of my head. Shran lifted his glass and spoke loudly.

“To Starfleet,” he called meeting my eyes with his own before continuing, “and their most beautiful officer.”

Echoes of ‘to Starfleet’ flooded the room as everyone took sips of their drinks. My cheeks heated under his gaze as the two of us raised our glasses to our lips. Had he really just said that in front of all those people? Perhaps he’d had more to drink than I initially guessed. Once everyone else had gone back to their socializing, the Commander offered me his arm. Against my better judgment, I took it and let him lead me off to a quieter part of the room.

“It’s refreshing to see you in a more relaxed setting,” the Andorian said leaning against the wall we were standing by.

“The feeling is mutual, Commander–”

“Let’s drop the formalities, shall we? We’re not on duty, after all. You may call me Thy’lek if you wish. Or if that’s a bit too casual, Shran will do just fine,” he said bringing my hand to his lips.

“As you wish...Thy’lek,” I said as a smile curled my lips. “That was quite a toast.”

“I meant every word. Starfleet couldn’t have found a more capable officer if they tried,” he said taking a sip of his ale. My hand was still firmly in his grip, not that I was complaining.

“Oh, ‘capable’ is it? I recall you using a very different word a few minutes ago.” Lifting one of my eyebrows, I played coy hoping that he would take the bait.

“Do you? And what word do you remember in its place?” He asked narrowing his eyes with a half smirk. “Clever? Resourceful?”

“Search me. You’re the one who said it,” I teased and he pulled me a little closer. “Unless, of course, you’ve changed your opinion since your toast...?”

“Not at all,” Shran protested hurriedly, slipping his arm around my waist and pushing off from the wall all in the same movement. With his face barely a few inches from my own, I found my thoughts muddled. “I have always found you beautiful. That will never change.”

“Maybe we should go somewhere more private,” I suggested, and a low hum came from deep in Shran’s throat. “Isn’t that why you’ve been giving me so much attention tonight?”

“Perceptive. Wouldn’t Archer or Forrest have a problem with you leaving?” Shran asked even as his lust-blown pupils gave away his real feelings on the subject.

“Since this is a diplomatic function, I doubt they’d mind if I...solidified relations between our people,” I murmured in a daringly seductive tone. 

“Allow me to give you an excuse,” he rasped before taking a small step back and speaking louder. “Lieutenant, would you show me around the gardens?”

Ah, such subtlety. A few people turned to look at us as I quietly acquiesced to his request. With a ridiculous flourish, the Andorian swept me out the door toward the facility’s gardens. As we wove our way through the lantern-lit topiary maze, I summoned up a bit of courage and recalled the information I’d acquired on Andorian flirting. Normally there was some sort of combat involved. I wasn’t quite willing to fight him while wearing heels. Hopefully that wouldn’t disappoint him. Then again, if he’d wanted an Andorian partner, why had he been showing interest in a human?

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you might’ve had one too many drinks tonight,” I giggled as we hurried through the foliage.

“You might just be right.” Shran’s voice came out light and amused as he brought me into a small open area with a fountain and turned to face me. Setting our glasses on the fountain’s ledge, the Commander stepped closer and grasped my waist.

“So...here we are,” I murmured as I laid my hands on his shoulders and looked up into his eyes.

“Tell me now before I do or say something that might jeopardize our friendship. Have I read this situation incorrectly?” His voice was thick with emotion and lust, his breath laced with the scent of the ale we’d both consumed.

“Thy’lek...just kiss me already,” I crooned as I looped my arms around his neck. With a little smirk, the Andorian did just that, kissing me with all the passion I’d come to expect from him. He never did anything in half-measures, and this was no different. When I was breathless and held upright only by the saving grace of his arms around me, we finally separated for air, only to become aware of the sound of cheering. Curiously, we looked up at the balcony of the venue’s upper floor and saw Hoshi and Phlox applauding as they looked down at us.

“It’s about time!” My cheeks started burning at Hoshi’s shout, but before I could move away or say something in return, Shran dipped me low. A gasp tore from me despite knowing he’d never let me get hurt, and it was promptly stolen away as he kissed me again. Everything faded away except the feeling of Shran’s body against mine and the mischievous glee bubbling up in my chest at the unfolding possibilities of what being intimate with him could mean. After all, if this was how he behaved in public, who knew how he’d be in a setting that was actually private?

[seherie]

pierce my heart (ii)

Ram let out a small groan when yet another man bumped against his shoulder, a loose apology falling into the crisscross of voices in the bustling marketplace before the man disappeared.

He was walking back to his home alone after encouraging Akhtar to accompany Jenny in her car. The British woman had offered him a discrete, grateful smile in return for his support before driving away with his friend.

The surge of adrenaline he had felt during the party was beginning to fade now, and he cursed himself for wearing his stiff leather boots, knowing very well that there would be dancing at the event. 

Just as he was about to turn down another crowded alleyway, a blush of scarlet fabric disappearing in the opposite direction caught his eye. Aadhira, his mind surged alive at the thought of the archer, heels spinning around to catch up with her. He ignored the mix of curses hurled in his direction as he pushed and shoved through the crowd to get to her.

He wasn't quite sure what he was hoping to achieve from finding her, but there was no real logic behind his actions. The mere thought of being reunited with Aadhira Samraith was motivation enough to tear apart the alleyways of Delhi in search of her.

However, he had lost sight of her scarlet salwar just as quickly as he'd first found it, the murky grip of disappointment gripping his feet as he came to a halt at a cross-road.

Just as he was about to lose all hope, a pair of bangle-clad arms pulled him into a narrow alleyway. Back slamming against the brick wall, he found his face mere inches away from the female archer's.

"Have you been following me?" 

Her raven eyes, still as a pond and just as dangerous, were lined with kohl, while her golden complexion, flushed from both the heat and Ram, glowed beneath fractured shards of sunlight. God, how was she real?

"It's nice to see you too, Arjuna," he smiles, tilting his head down a little to properly gaze into her eyes.

"You're unbelievable," she scoffs before suddenly letting go of his shirt, as though she had only just realized their proximity.

"And you're once again dressed in red," he observed, lifting the scarlet dupatta that had gotten caught on his suspenders up to her face.

She glares at his words, not missing a beat, "And you're once again in the same boring, white shirt. At least I change out my salwars."

She takes a step back, eyebrows scrunching when she got a proper look at his crumpled ivory shirt and dirt-stained trousers. Furthermore, it didn't go past her notice that he was leaning slightly on his left leg, courtesy of his ankle getting messed up.

"What happened to you, Ram?" she whispers his name with a concern that both endeared and surprised him. He could feel his defenses already softening at her words. "You look like shit."

Nevermind, he thinks.

"Wow, thanks, that makes me feel so much better," he drawled, rolling his eyes.

"I'm serious," she leaned in to straighten his collar, fingers lightly brushing against the skin beneath his neck, just a second away from the racing pulse in his heart.

"I was at a party," he breathes out, trying his best to regain composure, "There was a little dancing-"

"A little?" her lips quirk ever so slightly upward at his words.

"Okay fine, a lot," he laughs out, "Anyways, there may have been a point where I fell to the ground so that Akhtar could impress his lady crush-" "What?"

"Patience, woman," he chides, flicking her forehead lightly.

"Do that again, and I'll chop your finger off," she warned.

"Ooh, how violent," he teased, causing her to roll his eyes and let go of his shirt.

The two were silent for a few moments, no sharp insults or teasing remarks, before Aadhira turned away, clearing her throat.

"Come, I'll drop you home," she sighed, fingers wrapping around his wrist as she dragged him through the crowd. He wondered whether she could sense his pulse like he could hers.

"You don't even know where I live," he challenged, though that was quickly resolved as she turned to look at him.

"Are you incapable of giving me simple directions? No?"

"Since when do you own a bike?"

She leads the two of them to an impressive-looking motorbike, one of those imported models he had seen in a catalog earlier that year.

"Good question," she hums without bothering to give him an actual answer. Sliding onto the leather seat with a grace that should have been impossible on a vehicle nearly twice her size, she pats the leather seat behind her,  "Get on." 

Unsure of what to do with his hands, he unsteadily placed them on the side, a position which nearly causes him to lose balance as they sped down the bustling streets.

"You know," she chuckled, observing his face from the side mirror, "You can just hold onto me for now. I'm a quick driver, and I'd rather not have to deal with your death today."

"I highly doubt you'd come back for me," he scoffed but nevertheless, he slowly bracketed her waist within his arms.

"You know what? You're right," she grinned, and though he couldn't see it, he could hear it in her words. God, he really couldn’t believe that she was real.

---

They arrive at his apartment after exchanging entire sagas of insults with one another, her frustrated at his inability to give directions and him at her refusal to listen but somehow they’d managed to bring him home.

"You want to come in for some chai?" he inquired, turning back to look at her before heading up the stairs to his apartment.

"How do I know that you won't poison it?" she quipped back, though she had already begun to park her bike, walking up to join him on the stairs.

She paused just a step above him, turning to look at him as though to say, what are you waiting for?

"You don't," he eventually said.

Shaking her head, she follows him into his apartment, inquisitive eyes drinking in every little detail his room had to offer.

Watching her from the door frame, amused and slightly nervous, he thought to himself once again, god, how is she real?

The two of them lose track of time that evening to debates about politics and crime, to an argument in the kitchen about how much milk was too much milk and even a little break where they sat across from one another, reading different books.

It isn't until much later in the evening, when Akhtar returns to find Ram, that the two of them realized how long they'd been in there.

Outside, in a much different part of the city, Aadhira's uncle and companions sat waiting for her to return, a map of the Scott manor spread out on a table before them. They all wore a band of scarlet cloth around their wrist, the same one that Aadhira always seemed to wear, the signature of a sacred promise. 

Further apart, in a different enclave of Bharat, there sat a woman clad in a vibrant, green lehenga, re-reading the letter that her cousin had sent her, over and over again, while the elders prayed that he had not forgone his promise.  

---

Aadhira and Ram sat three feet apart from one another, neither of them realizing, in those moments, the weight that those three feet would have on their lives in the next three months.

In a city on the verge of a revolution, their hearts would be the first to arrive at the crossroads of its victims

my usual victims: @aurora2238 @maraudersfansassemble @idrinktea-darling @manwalaage @thewinchestergirl1208 @redirection04 @itsfookingloosah @miriseven

[asphuxia]

@freedomarrow sent:

[ COSTUME ] + [ SCARE ] — midsommar ( still accepting ! )

King Caineghis would probably roll his eyes so hard if he saw this, but thankfully, he is not here.

"I've... never tried to dress up in anything like this before," Leonardo mumbles. His voice is muffled, failing to come entirely clearly through the big, fluffy lion mask, complete with quite an impressive - but also very obviously fake - mane to go around the neck part. "But, well. How do I look? Aside from ridiculous, that is..."

(He does not dare to try and roar, though.)

"What costume do you like? I'm sure you can find something great."

Hel’s princess must concede: though there were plenty of costumes donned tonight among those that were adequately described as ‘scary’, she is utterly delighted to find that there were still manners of dress that begot amusement, too. Thin lips fold, curved upwards in a smile as Eir appraises her new acquaintance, perhaps a little glad for the fact that he could see her little behind the mask. It is nothing short of incredible, to be sure— upon Leonardo’s face sitting an intricately crafted lion mask, fitted with its own flowing, golden mane. It is not to say that the full costume is silly, but… with the wide face of the feline atop the archer’s lanky body, she cannot help but find the image a little comical. Not that she admits such things aloud.

“Neither have I, admittedly…” Her tone is suspiciously monotonous, almost as though she yet tries to suppress her laugh. It’s not funny. He does look quite dashing, if only one ignores Leonardo’s awkward stance. He makes an excellent lion… is what the Helian vainly attempts to convince herself. Then, the archer poses his question, and her thoughts fall quickly in line. It is not in her nature to lie, even of the most simple matters, yet… sapphire eyes search for something positive to say, one small mercy in her hesitant commentary. It takes Eir a moment to place her words, carefully ignoring his own supposition. “It looks… well, it’s a beautiful mask, but… it seems incomplete without the rest of the lion’s form.”

It would make a very convincing display, should he choose to don the rest of the costume— assuming it was meant to be part of a set. But Eir understands that it would also be one of little practicality, especially when festival goers were expected to be dressed well into the night. She supposes that duty and burden would be better left to those with the mental fortitude for it, then… but she hopes Leonardo will entertain that unspoken suggestion, nevertheless. With an attempt of an encouraging smile ( that which Eir is hardly certain he could see, ) she cautiously fixes the ears of the mask, which had become slightly lopsided. “I am sure you would delight some children within the crowd, though...”

Once Eir steps back away, Leonardo follows up with another inquiry— one that she has an insubstantial answer for. It was never in her interest to indulge in dramatics, as far as costumes and festivals were concerned. One could even go so far as to suggest that her mere self, though unbeknownst to most, was haunting in itself. Death’s daughter pauses, searching for an answer; she casts a scant glance at the many clothes hung around the room. “I’m… not sure. I suppose a… grim reaper might work?”

A scythe. A dark cloak. Death’s deliverance. Fitting.

[crossbowking]

Space Between Us

Summary: (Set at the beginning of Alexandria) After the reader has one too many drinks, she finds herself being taken care of by the archer.

Request: “I’m here if you need anything, okay?” @anonymous 

A/N: I’m so sorry this one has taken so long for me to finish! With all of the shit going on in the world, it’s been a crazy couple of weeks. I hope everyone out there is staying safe during this time!

Also, I’m so sad about the season 10 finale getting pushed back because of this virus. 

Ugh.

Hopefully, this story can bring y’all a little joy during this time.

xx crossbowking

Masterlist

Ko-fi Account

It wasn’t until after you’d finished your fourth glass of wine that you realized you should’ve stopped at your third.

You hadn’t been able to help yourself though — you’d just gotten caught up in the moment, the normalcy, of what was going on around you.

Alexandria was like nothing you’d ever seen before. You hadn’t thought places like this could even exist in the new world you lived in. Yet, here it stood — with steel walls and fortified gates, with watchtowers and armories. There were children of all ages, running around as if there weren’t flesh-eating hoards of the dead roaming outside. There was enough food and water for all, enough medical supplies to stock up a small infirmary. There was even a beautiful garden, for fuck’s sake.

The people within the community had no clue — no concept — of just how bad things had gotten outside their walls.

And just how good they had it inside of them.

When Deanna had first invited your group into her home, to partake in some sort of makeshift ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ party, you’d been hesitant. After everything you’d seen, after everything you’d been through the past few months — the Governor, the Claimers, Terminus — the last thing you’d wanted to do was dress up and play pretend, as if the world hadn’t completely gone to shit.

Still, it was important that you try, that your entire group try — to fit in, to mingle, to get a feel of what exactly you were about to get yourselves into.

And even more so, it was important that you scoped out the people of Alexandria. Your group didn’t trust easy — and for good reason.

You had a little more faith than Rick and the rest of the group. Faith that there were still good people out there and maybe, just maybe, you’d found some here.

Although that could’ve been the wine talking.

A hand suddenly appeared in front of your face, waving back and forth. “Hello? Earth to Y/N,” Maggie teased from beside you, drawing you back from your dazed thoughts.

You glanced down at her sheepishly, swaying slightly from where you sat, perched on the arm of the couch. “Hm?” you hummed faintly, a lazy smile creeping across your face.

Maggie laughed aloud, her features softening for the first time in what seemed like forever as she turned to whisper something to Glenn, who sat beside her.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’re you two love birds whisperin’ ‘bout over there?” you protested with a pout, leaning over in an attempt to eavesdrop — but you suddenly found yourself tipping over, your balance having disappeared right around that second glass of wine, and landed in a clumsy pile beside Maggie.

The pair dissolved into a fit of laughter as you struggled to upright yourself, finding an unexpected giggle slip through your own lips as you gave up with a huff, your face pressed against the back cushion of the couch. “Help?” you asked pathetically, words muffled against the fabric.

Maggie stifled another laugh as she grabbed your hand, pulling you up into a seated position. Glenn shared an elusive look with Maggie, the two seemingly having a silent conversation, before he stood suddenly, extending his hand towards you. “Alright, come on.”

You accepted his reach without question, allowing him to help you up, swaying slightly on your feet. “Ooh, where we goin’?” you mumbled as Maggie joined the two of you.

“Glenn’s gonna take ya home, alright?” Maggie assured, still looking as though she was struggling to keep a straight face.

“What!” you protested, pulling your hand from Glenn’s. “I’m fine — seriously, I’m — I’m fine,” you nodded, waving off the couple as you attempted to do your best impression of a sober person.

“Okay, Y/N,” Glenn relented, crossing his arms over his chest before he smirked at you, shooting Maggie a look you couldn’t quite interpret. “Say the alphabet backward,” he challenged.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring how the motion made your head spin. “Hey, hey, no! That’s not — that’s not supposed to be your shit! Shit, I mean shtick,” you fussed, waggling your finger. “That’s — that should be Rick’s thing, right? ‘Cause, ‘cause he is a man of the law,” you grinned, drawing out the word ‘law’ before you grabbed onto Glenn’s shoulder. “Ya feel me? Ya feel me, brother?” you gasped softly, looking around in bewilderment. “Whoa, that was weird.”

Maggie covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing directly in your face before she excused herself, spotting Rosita motioning her over from the other side of the room.

“Alright, alright, let’s go,” Glenn ushered you forward despite your weakening protests.

You groaned dramatically, earning a side-eye from a couple of Alexandria’s residents — but you simply ignored them, allowing your friend to guide you out of the living room and through the front door.

The cool night air rushed to meet your flushed skin as you inhaled sharply, shaking your head back and forth in an attempt to clear some of the haziness you felt. But the motion threw you off balance and you teetered at the edge of the porch stairs for a moment before Glenn steadied you. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he cautioned before helping escort you down the steps safely.

You turned to him once you reached the sidewalk, widening your bleary eyes as you grabbed onto his arm. “Hey, can I ask you somethin’?” you suddenly mumbled, staggering briefly.

Glenn’s expression became serious as he turned to face you fully, his kind eyes locking with yours. “You okay?” he asked, worry etching his features, making him seem much older than he was.

“Is — oops, shit, sorry,“ you fumbled backward for a moment, having accidentally stepped on Glenn’s foot. You stiffened, keeping yourself upright as you took a deep breath. “Is Glenn short for Glennith?”

Glenn froze for a moment as though the question hadn’t fully registered before a smile broke across his face.

“What?” you questioned, brows knitted in confusion. “Come on, what!” you pressed, suddenly unable to stop giggling as you swayed back and forth.

“This is my favorite version of you,” Glenn laughed, reaching out to steady you once more before he jerked his head to the side, making a move to leave.

You took a step forward before faltering, gasping softly. “Shoot,” you murmured under your breath. Glenn shot you a confused look, quirking a brow at the dramatics. “I forgot my jacket,” you frowned, crossing your arms over your chest as a chill racked through you.

“Oh, I got it,” Glenn offered, turning back towards the house — but not before shooting you a firm look. “You just hang out here for a second, okay?”

You nodded, giving your friend two big thumbs up.

Glenn rolled his eyes, though a smirk was still etched on his face. “I mean it,” he urged, pointing a finger at you as he hurried back up the stairway and disappeared inside the house.

You sighed contently, unsure of the last time you’d felt this good — this free. Clearly, your tolerance for alcohol wasn’t what it used to be — but in that moment, alone in the quiet, the chilled night air biting at your exposed flesh, you simply couldn’t find it in you to give a damn.

“What’re ya doin’?” came a sudden voice, breaking the stillness.

You startled, spinning around on your heels towards where the sound came from. But you misstepped, one foot slipping off the sidewalk and onto the road, pitching you forward. Though you managed to stay standing, you straightened too quickly, suddenly losing your balance completely and tumbling down hard onto your right side. “Oof!” you huffed as your body slammed against the pavement, the skin on your right palm tearing as you attempted to catch yourself before your face hit the ground. “Yep, that’s gonna leave a mark,” you groaned through clenched teeth as you rolled onto your back, throwing one arm across your eyes.

You were vaguely aware of footsteps approaching, boots scuffing against asphalt before halting in front of you. “The hell’s wrong with ya?” came that same gruff voice from before, though closer this time.

You lifted your arm slightly, peeking up at the archer now standing above you before you covered your eyes once more. “I fell,” you exhaled defeatedly.

Daryl grunted softly. “I saw.”

You sighed once more, pushing up onto your elbows, locking eyes with the archer. “What can I say? I’m an athlete,” you shrugged sarcastically, waving one hand around as though you were royalty.

“Mhm,” Daryl murmured, nodding along — though you could’ve sworn you saw the hint of a smile toying at his lips before he reached his hand down towards you.

The sober version of yourself would’ve been mortified — but this version, this version couldn’t care less.

You took the archer’s hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet, swaying briefly until you found your balance. You huffed, blowing a misplaced strand of hair out of your face before your eyes settled on Daryl’s, noticing that he’d already been watching you. “Hi,” you smiled sweetly, wondering if you should be concerned that you could no longer feel your face.

Daryl scoffed lightly, unwinding his hand from yours, shoving it deep into the pocket of his jeans before his expression became serious. “Ya shouldn’t be out here alone, ya know,” he rumbled, surveying the surrounding area with guarded eyes. “Ain’t safe.”

You pursed your lips, looking up and down the darkened street before pointing towards the massive walls surrounding the community. “That’s why — that’s why they built these big ass walls, Dixon,” you shot back, tapping your finger to your temple. “Keeps the outside — the outside, uh, outside, you know?”

Daryl grunted. “Ain’t the outside we oughta be worried ‘bout,” he muttered under his breath before pausing, giving you a brief once over as if he was really looking at you for the first time. Then he slowly leaned forward, narrowed eyes boring into yours and you found yourself subconsciously holding your breath under his scrutinizing stare.

“What?” you asked, somewhat self consciously, ignoring the heat suddenly rushing to your cheeks.

“How much have ya had?” he questioned blankly.

“What —“

“Ta’ drink, Y/N,” he demanded, growing irritated for reasons unbeknownst to you.

“Oh,” you frowned, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “What’s it matter?”

Daryl opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of a door closing drew your attention away.

You spun around, wavering slightly, your nerves still buzzing from the moment previous as you watched Glenn hurry down the steps, your jacket in hand. “Glenn!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up into the air.

But Glenn didn’t seem fazed — instead, his expression looked tenser than it had before. He spotted Daryl behind you and nodded an acknowledgment as he approached. “Hey,” he breathed, slightly out of breath, glancing over his shoulder back up at Deanna’s house. “Here,” he murmured, handing over your jacket, peeking up at the house once more.

“What’s goin’ on?” Daryl questioned immediately, stepping up onto the sidewalk beside you.

You glanced over at the archer, his normally unreadable features back in place — but he clearly knew something was going on that you hadn’t noticed.

“No, nothing — just —“ Glenn sighed, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. “Sasha. She’s — she’s kind of having a tough time in there.”

Then as if on cue, Sasha came barreling through the front door, rushing down the stairs as though someone was after her. She spared the three of you a quick, flustered glance before she pushed past Glenn’s outstretched hand and stormed down the sidewalk, away from everyone else.

Glenn exhaled heavily, looking back at you and Daryl somberly. “Like I said, she’s having a tough time,” he murmured, rubbing a hand through his hair as he shifted, looking torn all of the sudden.

“Go,” Daryl suddenly rumbled.

Glenn glanced at you before looking at Daryl. “But —“

“M’ goin’ back ta’ the house anyways,” the archer interrupted. “I got her.”

You were about to ask who this ‘her’ was that they were talking about — but then Glenn was jogging off in the direction Sasha has just gone and Daryl was nudging you in the opposite direction.

“Wha — oh, alrighty then,” you stumbled forward slightly, feeling Daryl grab onto your elbow to keep you upright.

The longer you walked, the more your buzz began to wear off, the crisp night air having an efficient way of sharpening your senses. Neither you or the archer spoke, walking side by side in silence — you didn’t mind, though. You’d always felt oddly comfortable around him.

When you’d first joined the group back at Atlanta, everyone had warned you of the archer. They’d said he was hotheaded and aggressive, hostile and impulsive — especially living under the shadow of his older brother. But you’d never thought any of that — honestly, when you’d looked at him back then, you’d just thought he seemed scared.

And rightfully so if you had anything to say about it.

You sighed aloud, hugging the jacket you still held close to your chest. The house your group shared came into view — you’d only been at Alexandria for a couple of days and it seemed like no one was quite comfortable enough to move into their own spaces yet. You didn’t care — you preferred to be in close proximity to your family — it was the only way to keep everyone safe.

Daryl was so silent, you almost forgot he was beside you. Not even his footsteps made a sound — that was probably why he made such a good hunter, you thought to yourself. But you didn’t have to look at him to know he was deep in his thoughts, his mind constantly on edge, reliving the brutal past and anxiously waiting for the next bad thing to occur.

You nudged him gently. “Hey,” you murmured, your hazy eyes locking with his troubled ones. “We’re gonna be okay,” you whispered softly.

Daryl huffed, approaching the front steps of the house. “I jus’ don’t trust ‘em, is all,” he finally grumbled.

“You? Not trusting people? You’re kidding!” you teased, feigning surprise as you stepped up onto the stairs.

Karma came at you full force then — you realized too little too late that you’d misjudged your growing sobriety. Almost immediately, your foot slipped out from under you, causing you to topple forward, the steps rushing up to meet your face. But before you could fully face plant, you felt Daryl grab onto one of your flailing arms, stopping your fall just in time. “Shit,” you breathed, craning your neck to look at the archer. “I guess I deserved that one for sassing you,” you groaned, using your free hand to push yourself up.

You hissed suddenly, pain spreading through the palm of your right hand as you straightened — you’d forgotten all about your little tumble outside of Deanna’s. But before you could get a good look at your palm, Daryl’s hand snaked around your wrist, bring your arm closer to his face. He inspected your hand by the light streaming from the front porch, his expression neutral. “C’mon,” he mumbled, releasing his hold on you, nudging you up the stairs.

You cradled your hand to your chest, the pain sharper now that you were sobering up. But above anything else, you simply felt embarrassed. For drinking too much, for making an ass out of yourself — especially in front of him.

Your head hung low as you carefully maneuvered up the stairs and followed the archer inside. You spared the back of his head one last look before sighing, turning towards the stairs that led to the second floor, determined to stow yourself away in pure mortification.

“Where’re ya goin’?” Daryl’s voice cut through the silence.

You faltered, one foot already on the first step. “Oh —“

“C’mere,” he stated simply, waving you forward as he made his way into the kitchen — it wasn’t a request, you realized a moment later.

Your brows knitted in confusion as you set your jacket down on the railing, following the archer into the next room. You stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching Daryl stomp around the kitchen in a whirlwind, opening and closing cabinets, clearly searching for something. He glanced at you from over his shoulder. “Sit.”

His tone of voice made you feel like a child — but still, you did as he told, sliding down into one of the chairs around the dining table. You propped your head up with your left hand, uncurling the fingers on your right hand to examine the cut.

It wasn’t as bad as you’d thought — there were a couple of scrapes, some deeper than others, and little dark specks inside of the torn skin, most likely rocks or small pieces of gravel.

A soft clink drew your attention and you noticed the archer now standing beside you, a glass of water now placed on the table. “Drink,” he grunted before turning without another word.

You watched his retreating form, your eyes narrowing as he began searching the cabinets once more. “Have you always been this bossy or am I just realizing it now?” you challenged, quirking a brow. Daryl didn’t turn around but you heard a soft grunt which you chose to interpret as a ‘yes’.

You rolled your eyes, but grabbed the glass of water nonetheless, nearly chugging the entire contents in one gulp — you hadn’t even realized you’d been that thirsty. Daryl continued to move about the kitchen, clearly on some kind of mission, searching for something he was having trouble locating. But you were content to sit and simply watch him exist — you’d always found him as somebody you had a hard time not noticing.

You took another long swig of water as the archer reappeared at the table, holding a bowl in one hand and a first aid kit in the other. He set the bowl down and slid it towards you. “Eat,” he rumbled, his tone still demanding as he sat down on the chair diagonal from you.

Whatever smart-ass comment you were about to make fell short when you peered inside the bowl, a soft gasp escaping through your lips as you peeked up at the archer. “Is — is this —” a small smile crept over your face. “Spaghetti?”

“Aaron,” the archer answered simply, sliding a fork towards you.

You picked up the utensil from the table, digging into the meal without a second thought, unable to stop the blissful moan that came out of you after the first bite. “Oh my God,” you sighed around the food in your mouth. “I love him — I, I mean, I truly love him.”

“Alright, easy, girl,” Daryl grumbled, rummaging through the kit before pulling out tweezers, gauze and alcohol wipes.

You laughed softly. “Don’t be jealous,” you teased, shoveling another big forkful of pasta into your mouth.

The archer merely rolled his eyes, though you could’ve sworn his gaze darkened. “Lemme see,” he suddenly grumbled, grabbing the hand you’d injured, laying it onto the tabletop, palm facing the ceiling.

Using your free hand, you continued eating, every mouthful further sobering you up. Your body was starting to feel sluggish, your eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment as you finished your last bite, sighing contently.

You pushed the bowl away as you propped your head up with your free hand, watching the archer’s steady movements. He picked up the tweezers, resting them between his fingertips as he slid his other hand beneath yours, bringing your palm closer to his face. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the cut on your hand, using the dimmed light above the kitchen table to survey the damage done.

He pulled your fingers back slightly, the skin on your palm stretching as he hunched over, his soft breath tickling your skin. His touch was surprisingly gentle, you realized then.

“Huh,” you breathed softly, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

Daryl glanced up, regarding you warily. “What?” he mumbled, almost self-consciously.

“Dr. Dixon,” you waggled your eyebrows, a soft laugh slipping through your lips as the archer rolled his eyes, though you could’ve sworn you saw the tips of his ears suddenly turn pink.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, though his tone lacked any harshness. He brought the tweezers to your skin, slowly pushing them deeper into your palm until he was able to grasp an imbedded piece of gravel.

You winced, fighting back the urge to curl your hand into a fist. Daryl glanced up at you, scanning your features for a moment before he continued removing the small pieces of rock, moving a fraction slower than before.

Daryl was efficient — he had your wound cleaned and bandaged within minutes, neither of you uttering a word the entire time. You were content to just watch, keeping your gaze on his features to distract you from the burning sensation on your palm. He was incredibly focused — looking as though he was diffusing bomb instead of simply wrapping your hand in gauze.

His brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed — though that seemed to be a permanent feature of his. You suddenly felt this overwhelming urge to touch him, to brush away some of the worry etched on his face — to just be closer to him.

But you fought back the urge, instead bumping your knee against his to draw his attention. “Hey,” you murmured as your eyes locked. “Everything’s gonna be okay, you know.”

Daryl was quiet for a moment, his gaze searching yours before he finished the last wrap, releasing your hand from his.

“I mean it,” you pressed, sighing softly. “Even if it doesn’t work out here, we’re gonna be alright. I need you to know that, D. I just —“ you exhaled, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. “I’m here if you need anything, okay? Anything.”

The archer remained silent, a flash of something flitting across his features as his eyes flickered down to look at your lips before locking with yours once more. “Ya got somethin’ on your face,” he suddenly murmured.

“What!” you squeaked out, leaning away from him abruptly, feeling your face flush.

Daryl pointed to the corner of his lips. “There,” he motioned, his mouth twitching as though he was struggling to keep a straight face.

Your lips formed into a pout as you pathetically felt around your face. “I was just trying to have a moment with you — you know what, whatever!” you fussed dramatically as you wiped your face, realizing a moment too late that you’d used the back of your bandaged hand. You looked down at the red stains now soaking into the gauze. “Spaghetti sauce,” you whispered defeatedly, glancing up at the archer.

Daryl was still for a moment before his face softened, a deep, rumbling laugh coming from his chest — the sound so rare it immediately caught you off guard.

And so you sat back in your seat, fondly watching the archer, desperately wanting to savor the fleeting moment.

Daryl’s gaze caught yours and his laugh faded, in its place a small, somewhat sad smile. His features settled after a moment before he lowered his head — you couldn’t place the emotion he was suddenly exuding, but it seemed to resemble something like embarrassment.

For letting his tough exterior slip? For allowing a moment of joy to overcome him?

You weren’t sure.

All you knew was that you’d give anything — anything — to soothe his bruised and weary soul.

You regarded him carefully, studying his features under the dimmed kitchen light — his guarded eyes, focused downward, his pressed lips, only parting when he brought the side of his thumb between them, the faint scar above his right eyebrow, peeking through the hair that fell over his face.

Then without thinking, you reached forward.

You didn’t miss the way Daryl flinched at your sudden movement, his entire body going rigid. You faltered, pushing past the unexpected heartache you felt. Your outstretched fingers hovered between you before you extended your reach, gently brushing back the hair that covered the archer’s eyes. “There,” you whispered, a somber smile flickering across your lips.

A beat of stillness passed as Daryl’s gaze searched yours, clearly caught off guard but a look in his eyes you had never seen before.

You exhaled, hoping the archer couldn’t hear the shakiness within your breath as you leaned back. “I —” you breathed quietly, attempting to collect yourself. “I should probably get some sleep,” you murmured, pushing past the lump in your throat, afraid of what would happen if you spent one more second with such little space between you.

“Mhm,” Daryl mumbled, nodding once, his expression unreadable though the air between you was buzzing — practically electric — every nerve ending in your body feeling as though they’d been set ablaze. It was as though there was some sort of magnetic pull, drawing you together, the distance between you becoming smaller and smaller until —

The front door suddenly splintered opened, you and Daryl simultaneously jumping to your feet at the intrusion, heavy breaths mirroring each other as you spun towards the noise.

Acting on pure instinct, Daryl yanked his hunting knife from the sheath hanging from his belt, taking a defensive step forward, part of his body automatically moving to shield you.

But when Sasha came into view, storming past the kitchen and up the stairs without a second glance, you let out the breath you’d been holding, your head dropping into your hands as your cheeks flushed, the moment prior finally registering.

What the fuck was that.

From the corner of your eye, you watched Daryl slowly retract his knife, slipping it back into its sheath. You snuck a glance at him, his body so still you weren’t even sure he was breathing.

You dropped your hands with a huff, carefully maneuvering around the archer without touching him, keeping your gaze forward as you slowly walked to the kitchen doorway. You paused once you reached the entrance, turning around to glance back at Daryl, who remained frozen in place.

“Uh,” you murmured awkwardly, gnawing on your bottom lip for a moment, trying to push past the fuzziness you felt in your stomach. “I’m — I’m gonna head to bed. Uh, thank you —“ you held up your bandaged hand. “Thank you for this,” you finished, awkwardly waving at the archer.

Daryl’s eyes remained fixed on the far wall, motionless, avoiding your gaze completely.

You sighed quietly, feeling like a fool for whatever had transpired before — and though you knew you should’ve just gone straight to bed, you couldn’t help the next words that came tumbling from your lips. “I’m sorry — shit, I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t mean — you and I —“ you huffed a breath, throwing your hands up. “Damn it, I don’t know. I’m just — I’m sorry.”

You were mortified — even more so when Daryl barely even flinched at your words, acting as though he hadn’t even heard them at all. You sighed quietly, turning to leave when suddenly, the archer spoke.

“Y/N?” his voice seemed thick, like it’d caught in his throat.

You locked eyes with him from over your shoulder, your heart beating a fraction faster. “Hm?” you hummed, not trusting your voice.

He was silent for what seemed like forever until he straightened, as if he was attempting to build some courage, steeling himself for whatever he was about to say. “Ya don’t ever gotta apologize ta’ me,” he rumbled simply.

You let his words settle, the intent behind them more meaningful than you could even comprehend in that moment. A small smile grew across your lips as you nodded slowly, a familiar heat flushing across your features. “Goodnight, Daryl,” you whispered, pushing away from the doorway and towards the stairs.

And as your foot landed on the first step, you heard a soft mumble echo from the other room.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

A/N: So...how did y’all like this one!?

Forever Tag List

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[pugh-bug]

Scott Lang x reader

Chapter 4 of this slow burn (which is fitting because I post the chapters slowly) story

Finally! The next chapter will follow on from this because it’s going to end up too long if I don’t post this chapter now. I hope you enjoy it! :)

You’d been stressed the last week and everyone could tell. A twenty thousand word uni essay you thought was in for the end of term turned out to have been due two weeks earlier. It only took one text from a fellow class member, who you never really spoke to or considered, asking you what your grade was to send you into a frantic meltdown. Luckily the Avengers were busy so you had Stark Tower to yourself for a few hours and took full advantage. By crying. A lot. Begging your professor to give you more time to hand it in (because you were sick cough cough) and planning the stupid thing to get it over with. Did you get it done eventually? Yes. Would a drunken chicken be impressed by your words? Doubtful.

Normally you gave Bruce your essays to look over but you couldn’t bring yourself to show him your so called ‘work’ so into the submissions it went. It was too embarrassing but your motivation levels had plummeted since meeting the Avengers and calling them your friends - you couldn’t care too much. In the scheme of things essays just didn’t seem important anymore.

On Sunday you submitted it and sat in silence for a moment. Everyone had gotten used to giving you space, for a change, so you were comfortable with quiet. However you were not going to quietly tell them you’d finally finished. No.

‘FINALLY!’ You yelled, purposefully leaning towards your door for maximum effect. Let them come to you, you thought. As the door opened and your friends pretty faces appeared you felt nothing but relief. It was silly to feel ‘free’ because it was just an essay but fucking hell did you despise avoiding everyone to write it for so long.

Scott came to you first with Tony, Thor and Vision behind. You tried not to revel in him being closest to you too much. He looked especially cute that afternoon, you could tell he’d had a lie in because of his slight bed hair, and you beamed at him. ‘So it’s finished?’ Making space for him so he could sit on your desk beside you, you nodded. ‘Yes!’

While Thor gave you a long speech about how pointless Earth school was in his charming way, Tony congratulated you like you’d had a baby.

‘Good. Knew that was hard for you.’

Scott was glued to your desk and you tried to make eye contact with everyone else in the room but him. Him and his pretty distracting face.

‘I have a brilliant idea!’ Tony then announced, commanding the room in his diva like way. Scott raised his eyebrows at you in anticipation before you all turned to look at the billionaire. ‘I think we’ve all disappointed ourselves this week. Do you know why? Work. We’ve been working too hard.’ Scott laughed and smiled down at you, which you returned. Poor Vision just stood in the doorframe glazed with visible confusion. It was like being in a Ted talk audience.

‘Y/N’s essay,’ Tony gestured to you. ‘My impeccable new suit. I’m sure Vision has been doing.. somethi- the point is, we need to party. My humble suggestion, which you’re free to disapprove of if you’re boring, is that we all get-‘

‘Smashed!’

The exclaim just left you. You had been fucking itching to be drunk all week and celebrate - even if it was a small achievement in the grand scheme of things. You wanted to do shots. Lie on the floor. Dance. Dance and finally eat! Somehow you hadn’t eaten anything all day and it was 4pm. Your stomach was growling at you.

Scott rubbed your shoulder playfully and smirked ‘I like that plan.’

‘Excuse me. My plan.’

You and Scott chose to ignore the diva in the room which of course Vision and his big computer brain had to comment on. ‘Erm...’ he hesitated as he walked towards the two of you in classic Vision fashion. ‘You two are-‘

‘About to find all the liquor!’ Before he could finish whatever awkward question he could ask you jumped out of your seat taking Scott with you. The cabinets where most of the alcohol got stored were all in the smaller of Tony’s kitchens. Scott’s hand in yours felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time as you giddily dragged him down the hall. You could not stop smiling and he could sense your mood change.

‘Someone’s happy today.’

Of course you somehow took that as a hint to let his hand go, which you did but sadly. Your hand felt a bit lost as you walked and you couldn’t remember if you normally swung your arms or kept them still like Vision.

‘I’m warning you now,’ you opened the cupboards with no specific alcohol in mind ‘I plan on getting very drunk tonight.’ Fuck. There wasn’t any kopperberg left. Oh well you’d settle for gasoline- it was one of those days.

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Scott chuckled at you. ‘When I was your age I got black out drunk almost daily.’ Once you were carrying a dangerous amount of bottles and cans you looked up at the man and he looked a bit smug. ‘Am I right in thinking you’re proud of yourself?’ He didn’t have to reply, you could tell he was.

The two of you laid out the cans and wine, vodka, mixer and beer bottles out on the counter carefully. It looked like a beautiful recipe for disaster but it wasn’t anything you hadn’t all done only weeks before. The amusing sounds of Tony bossing everyone around to get off their asses and party met your ears. Your main goal was to start drinking as soon as possible. Red wine, you found in your ‘scientific studies’, got you the drunkest the quickest so it was the obvious choice.

As you swug it, Scott hesitated about starting his beer. He watched you but for once you didn’t have the energy to wonder what he was thinking. ‘Oh no,’ you laughed and carried on drinking. ‘I’m gonna have to peel you off this floor later aren’t I?’ His words were worrying but there was a gleam in his eyes and an energy radiating off the two of you that didn’t care what happened.

You laughed and told him that yes he definitely would have to. He seemed to think it was his mission and his alone to look after you. How sweet and incorrect. ‘Scott,’ saying his name never got old ‘Don’t you dare stay sober for me. I’ve never seen you drunk.’ Somehow you hadn’t. Unless you had and couldn’t remember which was also likely. The idea of the two of you dancing together and Scott twirling you under his arm made your cheeks warm and your chest flutter.

The urge to be overly sarcastic was building, why you got like this around attractive people when you were bored you didn’t know. It wasn’t your best trait - funny sometimes but not exactly mature of you. It was almost addictive and spending time with Tony’s sarcy ass did nothing to help you think before you spoke.

You leant on the counter drinking but your mind was trying to decide which playlist you were going to force everyone to dance to. ‘Plughole.’ Scott stated.

‘Wow...’

‘It’s too quiet in here. Did I miss anything?’ Tony strutted in with his classic arrogance. You gestured to yourself and repeated Scott’s remark while chugging more wine. If you didn’t feel tipsy soon you’d start taking shots.

‘Shots!’ Clint yelled, entering the kitchen behind Thor, Peter, Nat, Bruce and Vision. Maybe the archer could mind read after all? He was holding an oven tray filled with shot glasses. Just- a beautiful sight. Scott looked apprehensive on your behalf but that didn’t matter. If he didn’t want you to get plastered he didn’t have to stay with you all night. Nat would.

‘Finally, yes please yes.’

It was pure chaos before long, which was exactly what you craved after such a boring week. ‘I want it all’ by the Arctic Monkeys was playing, despite Thor’s drunken Asgardian chant suggestions, and you had somehow taken 5 shots already. Scott was on 4, Vision going strong with 0 (of course), Thor had beaten you with 7 and yet Tony was winning with 8. You lost count quickly after that.

There were so many people in one room you felt like leaving would be impossible. You’d have to crowd surf to get to the shitting toilet. ‘Scott!’ He’d stayed near you until Steve arrived, looking sophisticated in a suit. That was when drunk you decided Scott could only leave you for Steve. One exception.

‘Scott!’

He heard you the second time, just barely over the music Sam had turned up. You felt needy and raw. Almost all of your ‘holding back reserves’ had been chained up by copious amounts of vodka. ‘Are you okay?’ Slurring his words slightly, Scott put his hand on your shoulder looking genuinely concerned. Your heart swelled. ‘Aw fuck.’ He didn’t respond at your accidental ‘sentence’ that had meant to stay in your brain.

‘I need to throw up.’

You didn’t even know if you felt sick but you felt something. It was just words and a half arsed explanation for leaving the lively room. The two of you were stood in the centre of the dance circle so leaving was a struggle. Avoiding Tony’s flaying arms and Sam’s impressive dancing to find the empty corridor felt like an obstacle course.

As soon as you and Scott reached the bathroom your stomach grumbled. ‘Oh.’ You held it and looked up at Scott’s confused face with realisation. ‘I think I’m just h-hungry! And you burst out laughing in his drunken haze Scott joined in.

‘Pretty sure there’s cake over here.’ He laughed, partially at your excitement but also at his own. Neither one of you ate well without encouragement and all you wanted was to devour sugar or his face if you got any drunker.

Taglist: @supraveng

[ravioxhilda]

First Meeting

Here’s a little Miphvali First Meeting thing that I finally got around to doing. I hope you enjoy!

Revali groaned as he stood from where he had been kneeling on the ground, debris littered all around him and that insufferable Hylian, who had gone to stand with what he could only presume was the Princess of Hyrule.

He glanced over to see the Princess looking at him with concern, causing him to immediately straighten up, though it caused his back to scream in pain as he did. Slamming into that gate was not a fun experience, and the pain was creeping in as the adrenaline wore off.

“Revali, are you alright?” Zelda asked worriedly, though she was met by a frosty glare from the Rito Warrior as he waved his arm to brush off any concern.

“I am fine, there is no need to make a fuss. Your little knight wasn’t putting up that much of a fight anyway.” He said smugly, though even then he could still feel the throbbing in his back and winced, allowing Zelda to notice his grimace.

“Oh no, you’re hurt! We’ll get you medical attention as soon as possible! I’ll be right back!”

Zelda then dashed off from beyond the gate to who knows where, leaving Revali and the Hylian Knight alone, the struggles of their battle represented by the debris scattered all around them.

“You are aware that if your Princess hadn’t intervened that I would have defeated you in battle, correct?” Revali asked, though the Hylian just stared at him blankly, but Revali could see a little anger in the Knight’s eyes.

“What, did you never learn to speak? Are Hylian Knights that uneducated? I expected better, especially since you are the one protecting the Princess of Hyrule.” Revali taunted, but there was still no response.

The both of them looked up to see Zelda had returned, though now with a new person in tow, one that wasn’t a Hylian.

She was quite short and appeared to have scales rather than hair or feathers, colored red and white, and instead of clothing, she wore jewelry and a sash instead. Her feet and fingers also appeared to be webbed, perhaps to help with swimming.

Revali remembered hearing about a species much like the person before him, though he did not remember what the race was called, as none of them had ever visited Rito Village before from what he could remember.

“Mipha, will you be able to heal Revali? It appears Link has managed to injure him in some way.” Zelda said, and the girl Revali supposed was Mipha. Her amber eyes turned to look at Revali with such kindness, none that he had ever seen before with such intensity.

“Of course, Princess. I will do my best.” She said, her voice so soft that Revali wondered if she was ever heard if someone wasn’t paying the utmost attention to her when she spoke.

Not that it mattered to him, he didn’t expect to be interacting with her all that much after this ordeal.

“So, I presume that you are knowledgeable in the medical field, correct? You need not concern yourself with helping me, I can handle myself just fine.” Revali said, though Mipha just smiled sweetly at him.

“While that may be true, I believe that my method will be more effective than whatever rudimentary healing that you may have picked up. Would you please show me where you were injured?” She asked calmly, and Revali grunted as he turned his back towards her, deciding that arguing with her would most likely not be the best course of action at the moment.

“Ah, did your back become damaged when you slammed into the gate?” Mipha asked, and Revali sighed.

“You saw that, hm? Yes, it did. What are you going to do to help it? I don’t see any supplies with you.” Revali asked, though Mipha merely shrugged as she placed her hands gently on his back, causing him to jerk slightly.

Mipha moved her hands back as Revali regarded her with suspicion, as though he did not trust her. She supposed it was fair, they had only just met and her ally had harmed him seemingly badly.

“For my healing to work, I must have contact with your body. You and I may not know each other quite well yet, but I need you to trust that I will not hurt you.”

Revali rolled his eyes, though he nodded and remained completely still as he felt her hands touch him once again, trying not to jolt.

After a moment, he felt something creep up his spine, a feeling, but it wasn’t particularly unpleasant.

The sensation was quite soothing as it expanded throughout his back, and he felt the throbbing slowly fade away, as though it had magically disappeared.

He turned back around to see a faint blue glow around Mipha’s hands fading, and she met his shocked but relieved expression with yet another smile. Revali wondered if she ever tired of smiling, or if it was just in her behavior to do so.

“How did you do that?” He asked in awe, and Mipha laughed, a light, airy sound, something that Revali felt he would never tire of hearing no matter how many times he had heard it.

“I was blessed by the Goddess with the ability to heal, which is what I had used just now to heal you. How do you feel?” She asked, causing Revali to smirk as he straightened once again, this time with no underlying pain.

“I feel great, though I wasn’t aware that the Zora were able to heal. You are a Zora, are you not?”

Mipha nodded as she straightened up as well, her jewelry tinkling with each motion.

“I am, though it is more an ability passed down among Zora Royalty than anyone else.” She said, glancing over at Revali to see his reaction. She was quite used to those who found out she was royalty to be slightly panicked as if they were worried they had said something to offend her, but Revali had none of these reactions.

“Well, it is quite impressive, though I suppose I should have remembered the stories of the Zora Princess who could heal from Rito travelers. It is quite an interesting tale from the little I have heard.” He said, and Mipha could sense that he was trying to goad her into an argument, though for what reason she did not know.

“I suppose it would be, though I have never heard of a Rito able to conjure up a gale as fearsome as yours. Where did you learn to do it?” She asked, and Revali smirked, placing his palm against his chest in what Mipha could assume was a prideful manner.

“Years of practice, Princess. I wasn’t fortunate enough to be born with my ability, rather I had to perfect it with my own hard work and dedication. Impressive, no?”

Mipha giggled, though she nodded in agreement.

“I would say that is quite a feat indeed. Perhaps I will be able to see it more in battle, as I presume you are going to accept Princess Zelda’s request to pilot the Divine Beast Vah Medoh, correct?” She asked, and Revali nodded with a dramatic sigh.

“It would be quite rude for me to refuse a request from our Princess of Hyrule, would it not? However, I think I’ll have her wait a bit longer until I give my answer.” Revali said smugly, causing Mipha to roll her eyes as she adjusted her jewelry.

“Well, if we are going to be teammates, then I suppose I should introduce myself formally. I am Mipha of the Zora. What is your name?” She asked, and Revali swung his arm up into the air, clenched into a fist though nearly hitting Mipha in the process.

“I am Revali of the Rito, Master Archer of the entire Kingdom of Hyrule and soon to be Pilot of Divine Beast of Vah Medoh.” He declared proudly, and Mipha smiled.

“That sounds like quite a mouthful. How about just Revali?” She asked, causing Revali to look down to see her soft smile as he felt his cheeks warm despite the frigid weather.

“Just Revali is fine.” He mumbled as he turned to look away from her, though Mipha simply laughed again.

“I’m glad. It is nice to meet you, Revali.” She said, though Revali felt he would lose his composure if she kept up this sweet act of hers, but he managed to say one last thing.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.”

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: this body yet survives, ch. 8

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Qǐrén, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Jiāng Yànlí, Su She | Su Minshan, Madam Jin, Jin Zixuan, Wen Qing

Tags: No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation, Courtship, Courting Rituals, Near Death Experiences, Attempted Murder, Eventual Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Siblings, Protective Siblings, Soup, Triggers, Protective Lan WangJi, Protective Lán Qǐrén, Yúnmèng Siblings Dynamics, Bad Parent Yú Zǐyuān, POV Third Person, POV Lan WangJi

Summary: Lan Qiren wakes them to let them know of Wen Qing's arrival and her desire to ensure Wei Wuxian's meridians are healing.

Notes: See end.

Warnings: Reference to poisoning, infanticide, assassination, and chronic illness in this chapter.

Parts 1 & 2

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

AO3 link

----------

Wangji woke, warm and comfortable, to the sound of shufu’s throat clearing, and sat up to find he had fallen asleep with Wei Ying curled close, both the Jiang siblings also asleep, Jiang Wanyin curled at the foot of the bed, Jiang Yanli seated on a chair, but with her upper body on the bed, one arm around Wei Ying.

He had the wherewithal to be careful extricating himself from Wei Ying so as not to disturb his much-needed sleep, and stood to bow to his uncle.

“Shufu, Wangji apologizes for his conduct.”

“No need,” Lan Qiren replied, looking uncomfortable. “Last night was fraught for you all.”

Jiang Wanyin was the next to stir at the conversation, and he also greeted shufu politely before moving to gently wake Jiang Yanli.

“Wen-zongzhu has arrived,” Lan Qiren informed them. “His niece would like to assess Wei Wuxian’s recovery. I did not… inform them of the stress that he has faced.”

“The healer said his meridians seemed unharmed,” Wangji said, troubled.

Shufu favored him with a gentle look, one likely meant to calm, but it raised his anxiety over Wei Ying’s condition.

“Likely they are correct,” he said. “But Wen Qing is the foremost medical cultivator and would be able to assess him with more expertise.”

Wangji felt frozen, uncertain as to whether he should wake Wei Ying, but Jiang Yanli decided the matter for him. She murmured softly to him, tousled his hair gently, easing it out of the braid she’d put it in the night before.

Wei Ying looked beautifully disheveled when he did sit up, eyes half-lidded as he murmured questioningly at his sworn sister, his words barely recognizable—something unsurprising after the late night.

When he saw shufu, he jerked awake more fully, attempting a bow that unbalanced him and would have sent him off the bed, had Jiang Wanyin not grabbed his arm.

“None of that, Wei Wuxian. Wen-daifu wishes to check on your progress while her uncle discusses trade matters with myself and Xichen. Aside from that, a day of rest is in order for you all. We are investigating matters.”

“Lan-xiansheng, do you know if Wen Ning came with?” Wei Ying asked, sounding hesitant. 

Though Wei Ying had befriended him at the competition at Nightless City, Wangji knew he hadn’t been able to see the boy since, with Wen Qionglin’s weak constitution. They had exchanged letters, prior to the incident at the Lotus Pier discussion conference. Wei Ying had not written, or at least sent, letters since his arrival at the Cloud Recesses, though.

“He was not fit to travel,” shufu told him softly. “But you can ask after him with Wen-daifu.”

Wei Ying nodded, disappointed. 

Shufu excused himself to see to Wen-zongzhu, letting them know Wen Qing would be by shortly. 

Wen Qionglin’s illness was well-known, the injury suffered when Wen-furen and her newborn, Wen Chao, were poisoned. Their firstborn, Wen Xu, had died under mysterious circumstances that had also left Wen-furen weak to the point of often being bedridden, and so Wen-zongzhu had called upon his cousins in a medical branch of the clan to attend her second pregnancy personally. 

As it had turned out, the firstborn had been murdered, Wen-furen’s illness the result of poison. Unfortunately, it was only discovered when Wen-furen, her newborn, and Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing’s parents were dead, little Wen Qionglin, barely a toddler at the time, himself poisoned. Wen Qing had been lucky, at a lesson at the time and thus untouched. 

It had obviously been foul play, and an investigation revealed that a secondary branch of the family had been behind it, seeking to usurp the sect leader through assassinating his heirs in infancy. 

After having the ringleaders executed for high treason, Wen Ruohan had exiled every man, woman, and child from that branch of the clan to Dongying. It had been considered mercy, as he could have instead determined justice could only be served through miezu. He had announced that he did not believe justice would be served by executing or enslaving children for the non-crime of being born to a family and did not believe creating more orphans by executing only the adults would be just, either. The alternative of exile had been graciously accepted by the secondary branch. 

He had never remarried, nor sought to have more children, instead taking the orphaned Wen Qing and Wen Qionglin into his household, naming the former his heir and ensuring her sibling received the best care available.

Wen Qionglin’s illness left him often bedridden and weak like his aunt had been, though he was quite kind and soft-spoken, and painfully shy. Wei Ying had met him on a rare day when he was feeling better and practicing archery, having gotten lost in the area around the tournament. He had given him tips and encouraged him to enter the tournament, at least to show his skill in the segment that involved stationary targets.

With his coaxing, the boy had scored several bullseyes in front of the crowd, increasing his standing among his peers despite his illness. Where previously the cultivation world had looked upon Wen Qionglin with pity, it was now impressed that someone with such a difficult chronic illness had become an accomplished archer. 

“I am sure Wen Qionglin would enjoy hearing from you again,” Wangji said softly. “Perhaps his sister can bring him a letter if you wish to write him before she leaves.”

Wei Ying nodded again, frowning slightly. 

“I’ve been a terrible friend.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Wei Wuxian,” someone said from the hallway, and Wen Qing entered the room a moment later. “You’ve been ill. A-Ning understands.”

That elicited a deeper frown from Wei Ying.

“I haven’t been sick,” he objected. 

Wen Qing snorted. 

“Maybe not physically, but I’ve been receiving regular updates from the healers here. You suffered a traumatic event, and it injured your mind. Illness comes in different forms.”

Wei Ying looked away, frowning—it seemed he hadn’t considered his struggles an illness, despite being treated by healers in the Cloud Recesses.

“Honestly, Wei Wuxian… A-Ning really understands. He misses your letters, but Lan-zongzhu and the healers have kept me apprised, so he knows you’ve had difficulty. Stop being so fucking hard on yourself.”

If Wangji hadn’t met her at several points during his life, her profanity might have surprised him, but instead he was simply glad it made Wei Ying smile.

“Ah, Wen Qing, your bedside manner is refreshing,” he said lightly, and she rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion.

“I overheard that there have been… issues,” she said after a moment.

Wei Ying’s jaw clenched, a slight tremor running through him at the reminder.

“Some asshole put lotuses in his quarters, and then ours,” Jiang Wanyin supplied. “On purpose.”

“That’s why A-Xian is in the infirmary,” Jiang Yanli added softly. “He was ill when he saw them.”

“And smelled them,” Wei Ying said, his voice catching.

“The healers were concerned about his meridians and… the possibility of qi deviation,” Wangji said, nearly choking on the last part.

He kept his eyes on Wei Ying so as to stave off the image of him bleeding from his eyes and nose and ears and mouth in the mud.

Wen Qing looked almost murderous for a brief moment before her face smoothed.

“They induced a flashback, I’m assuming, to what occurred,” she said, somehow managing to keep her voice level and calm. “Not surprising.”

“Seeing lotuses on clothing and ornaments, and in food, too,” Jiang Yanli offered. “A-Cheng intends to go through Wei Ying’s belongings to remove anything including the lotus.”

“A-Jie and I ordered clothing from Caiyi to be delivered when it’s complete, so he won’t have to see lotuses on our robes.”

Wei Ying looked surprised, gratitude and denial warring on his face. His eyes flitted to Jiang Wanyin’s crown, and Wangji’s followed. Instead of his typical silver lotus with amethyst stones that announced his station as Jiang sect heir, he was now wearing a simple unadorned jade guan. Jiang Yanli, who typically wore a lotus hairpin, had replaced it with a golden peony, clearly a courting gift from Jin Zixuan.

“You didn’t have to, A-Cheng. It’s stupid, just—”

“Is your fear of dogs stupid?” Wen Qing cut in brusquely. 

He flinched, and her voice gentled. She sat beside the bed in the chair vacated by Jiang Yanli. 

“Wei Wuxian, you’ve been through a trauma, just as you were when you were on the streets after your parents died. It’s not stupid. It’s your brain seeking to protect you.”

“But they’re just flowers,” Wei Wuxian muttered. 

“They remind you of fighting for your life, just as dogs do,” she said. “It’s a natural survival response, whether it’s rational or not.”

Wei Ying looked frustrated but nodded. 

“I know you hate it,” Wen Qing told him. “Maybe it’s a trauma that can be worked through. Same with dogs. The mind healers can help you when you’re ready, but it’s not easy work.”

She reached forward slowly and patted his shoulder, clearly giving him time to acclimate. Wangji knew he also hated that he sometimes panicked if he was touched without warning, as well. They all wished it was easy for him to go back to being relatively carefree. 

“I don’t need to use my needles to check your meridians for any disruption or damage,” Wen Qing said, breaking an uncomfortable silence that had fallen among them. “I may need to if you need treatment, but I’ll let you know, okay?”

Wei Ying simply nodded again in acknowledgement, and Wangji realized with a little bit of horror that he had grown accustomed to his quiet. He longed for the chatter and noise that had once accompanied him, but he had spent so much time locked in his own head in the last year, it would probably take more to break him of the habit. 

“Lie back and relax,” she ordered gently. “And tell me what you’ve been up to of late, so I can let A-Ning know.”

Once Wei Ying was situated, he spoke hesitantly, starting with Wangji writing him a song and feeling like a fog had lifted.

“I don’t really remember a lot before that,” he said. “It was like I was under… underwater.”

His voice broke at the word a little, as though he realized the implication of that word after what he’d suffered at the hands of Madam Yu, and Wen Qing’s movement checking his meridians hesitated slightly before she continued.  

At first it was just information, but by the time he reached their outing to Caiyi, the details were leaking in to make it a story. The purchase of Tang became a rescue, with perhaps unconscious undertones of Wei Ying’s own—unconscious because he didn’t seem aware of it, though the Jiang siblings exchanged heavy looks. 

He largely skimmed meeting Madam Jin, only commenting that she wanted to let him know she had dissolved her sworn sisterhood. He was taking her request for confidentiality seriously—Wangji didn’t know if he had told his siblings, even, though it was possible Jiang Yanli knew from Jin Zixuan. 

Wen Qing finished her examination before he was finished, but let him keep going, smiling when she learned of their betrothal, of his ribbon, of the swearing of brotherhood to make true in the eyes of the cultivation world what was already true in the hearts of Jiang Wanyin, Jiang Yanli, and Wei Ying. 

She sobered when he recounted returning to his rooms after having his sister’s newly-reformulated soup, and finding the lotuses inside. 

“And then A-Cheng went to their quarters later,” Wei Ying started, then stopped, his jaw tightening, his breathing quickened with distress.

“I heard what occurred,” Wen Qing said softly. “You have many people who wish to protect you, Wei Wuxian. Let them.”

“Is he… are his meridians okay?” Jiang Yanli asked, the words bursting from her as though she was no longer able to wait. 

Wen Qing nodded. 

“His pathways and meridians are much better than they were last I examined them. There is no lasting damage.”

The last time she had examined him had been shortly before they had undocked from Lotus Pier on the way to Gusu, but she was careful in her wording. 

“You had a panic attack last night,” she added. “Obviously staying calm and feeling safe is important moving forward, but your meridians and qi were not disrupted.”

“Thank you,” Wei Ying murmured. 

“Take it easy today, though. Doctor’s orders. You didn’t have a qi deviation, but panic attacks take a lot out of you.”

“I—I should greet Wen-zongzhu and thank him, though,” Wei Ying said as he sat up, sounding stressed at the very idea. 

Wen Qing snorted. 

“Nope. You don’t need the stress of having to greet anyone—you’ve had enough of that lately. My uncle understands, and you’re not expected to do anything but focus on your recovery.”

When he looked like he might argue she frowned at him. 

“Wei Wuxian, you aren’t to concern yourself with whatever idea of propriety you’ve got in your head you need to observe. It’s largely a bunch of bullshit, anyway. If you want to do anything, take a bit of time and write A-Ning a letter. He really wished he could come see you.”

That got a little smile from Wei Ying, likely happy that his friend wanted to hear from him. Wangji resolved to let him use his desk in the jingshi if he was uncomfortable returning to his quarters yet—chaperoned, of course.

“You need to return to a healthier weight,” Wen Qing said as she left. “I’ll arrange for breakfast to be sent.”

They took turns behind the screen dressing in the clothing retrieved the night before. Jiang Yanli insisted on combing Wei Ying’s hair, refreshing the citrus scent in it, before she tied his ribbon and arranged his crown with the gentian guan, his red ribbon, and the jade plum blossom hairstick.

The delivery of breakfast was accompanied by Jin Zixuan, who had brought his own tray to join them, and he was welcomed without fanfare in a way that implied he’d been accepted by Jiang Wanyin and Wei Ying. Likely, his honorable and kind conduct yesterday at both the banquet and after the lotus incident had helped matters.

Wangji hoped the day would be quieter and less stressful than the preceding one.

----------

灭族 (mièzú) is “family extermination” and was used as a collective punishment. There’s a lot of interesting meta on this in the fandom, regarding the extermination of the Wens not as genocide, but as an idea of retributive justice. There’s a wikipedia page on the nine familial exterminations; the children under a certain age would usually have been enslaved rather than killed, but not always (like, it isn’t light reading). There have been similar ideas of collective punishment in some Western cultures, as well. Famously, the Nazis used Sippenhaft.

I wanted to explore what might have prevented Wen Ruohan from becoming a megalomaniac at least briefly, and decided on this scenario. Tragedy changed him. I’m largely going with novel canon for this (not that it really matters since it’s a no war AU).

[discotreque]

LwD 1.10, “No Small Parts”

Well, that was the most fun I've had watching Star Trek in literally a quarter of a century.

I had high hopes for this series. I love TAS, largely because of its wacky outsized concepts that could only have worked in animation—not that they all did work, but the potential was so apparent to me, even as a kid reading the Alan Dean Foster novelizations—and as an adult, there's something about the imagination of Lower Decks's FX setpieces that transcends even the glorious CGI bonanzas of Discovery.

Pause for a confession. I've long pushed back against criticism of serialization in new Trek. That's just how TV is now, okay? Might as well complain about it being in widescreen. But I'm backing down a little, because I've realized there is something about Star Trek that's inextricable from at least a partially-episodic format. And while Picard was telling a different kind of story, I can't deny that my favourite episodes of Disco have been the ones with a mostly self-contained A-plot. After 10 delightfully episodic instalments of LwD, its focus on long-term development of characters instead of a season-spanning puzzle-plot (okay, mostly just Mariner, but we only have 10 × 22 minutes and she is the star) has been downright refreshing.

So here we are, at the end of the most consistent and well-executed Season 1 of a Star Trek series since, arguably, Those Old Scientists. And sure, if they'd had to produce another... yikes, 42 episodes? Then sure, they probably would have dropped a clunker or two—but they didn't, and winning on a technicality is still winning. I'm practically vibrating with excitement for Disco to come back next week, but damn, I'm going to miss this little show while it's on hiatus.

Spoilers below:

Something I've been keeping track of finally paid off this week! (Which never happens to me, lol.) The destruction of the USS Solvang marked the first present-day death(s) of any Starfleet officer on Lower Decks, the only other on-screen killing at all being a flashback in "Cupid's Errant Arrow". Which makes sense, being (a) a comedy, and (b) about typically "expendable" characters: it hasn't been afraid to flirt with a little darkness here and there, but killing people off at Star Trek's usual pace wouldn't just be wrong for the tone, it would be downright bizarre.

But... people die on Star Trek. That's one of the core themes of the show, really: space is full of knowledge and beauty, but also danger and terror, and believing that the former is worth the risk of the latter is (according to Trek) one of humanity's most noble traits. I'm the least bloodthirsty TV watcher I know, but the longer we went with a body count of nil—ships completely evacuated before they were destroyed, main characters hilariously maimed without permanent consequences, etc.—well, I didn't mind per se, but the absence of truly deadly stakes was definitely getting conspicuous.

Turns out they were saving it up for maximum impact. And holy fuck, I've never felt such a pit in my stomach watching a ship get destroyed that wasn't named Enterprise. It felt grim and brutal and somehow both much too quick and dreadfully inevitable—and yeah, it looked extremely fucking cool—and I'd like every other Star Trek property for the rest of time to take notes under a large bold heading labeled RESTRAINT.

Comedy doesn't need to do this, but my favourite comedy does, and in a way that few other art forms can even approach: lower my emotional defences by making me laugh, endear character(s) to me with goofy-but-relatable antics—then BAM, sucker-punch me in the motherfucking feels. M*A*S*H is probably the classic example on TV, Futurama was notorious for it, and even Archer has pulled it off a few times; it's also a staple of some of my favourite standup. I wasn't sure if Lower Decks was going to go there in Season 1—and wasn't sure if they'd earn it—but I knew if they did, that they'd nail it, and damn. Feels good to be right.

Last batch of notes for the season!!! I rambled enough already, so let's do it liveblog-style:

I fucking KNEW they were going to use "archive" visuals from TAS at some point, I KNEW IT :D

"THOSE OLD SCIENTISTS" ahahahahahahahahahahahaha

I like chill and confident Boimler a lot? You can really see—

oh bRADWARD NOOOOO

That opening shot of the Solvang tracking down to the red giant was extremely Discovery-esque... minus the motion sickness, that is

A lady captain AND a lady first officer? That's—oh hey, it's Captain Dayton's brand-new ship. Hahaha, that means they're totally fucked, right?.

Yep! They sure a—umm, wh—shit, okay, but—oh no—no, you can't—wait DON'T

...fuck

FUCK.

Narrator: "And then Amy needed a five-hour break."

[live-action Star Trek showrunner voice] "Gee, Mike! Why does CBS let you have two cold opens?"

Okay, yes, the bit with Rutherford cycling through all the different attitudes in his implant was transparently an excuse for Eugene Cardero to vamp while waiting for something to do in the story, but as far as I'm concerned they can contrive a reason for him to do a bunch of different silly Rutherfords in a row any time they damn well want, because that was classic!!!

EXOCOMP EXOCOMP EXOCOMP EXOCOMP

AND THE EXOCOMP IS PAINTED LIKE THE EXOCOMP IS WEARING A LITTLE EXOCOMP-SIZED STARFLEET UNIFORM

EXOCOMP!!!!!

The slow burn and now the payoff of the Mariner-is-Freeman's-secret-daughter plot has been executed so well. I'm beyond impressed with this writer's room, y'all—they are threading a hell of a needle here

"Wolf 359 was an inside job" would have been a spit-take if I'd had anything in my mouth

...how many memos do you think Starfleet Command has had to issue asking people to stop calling the USS Sacramento "the Sac"?

CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW THEY'VE DECORATED THE SHUTTLECRAFT SEQUOIA THOUGH

Is, uh, is it weird if I'm starting to ship Tendi and Peanut Hamper a little? It is weird, isn't it. I knew it was weird...

Coital barbs??? I take back everything I said about wanting to know more about Shaxs/T'Ana.

The "good officer" version of Mariner is... kind of hot, tbh! But Tawny Newsome has done such a great job of building this character all season that her voice getting uncharacteristically clipped and martial and "sir! yes, sir!" is also deeply, deeply weird

Ah, so this is literally exactly like when TNG (and DS9) would bring in, and then blow up, a never-before-seen Galaxy-class ship, just to underscore that we're facing a real threat this week, baby. And hey, it fucking worked—my heart was in my throat, omg, for the reveal of the—

PAKLEDS?????????

The fucking PAKLEDS have been gluing weapons to their ships for the last 15 years. GREAT.

(We interrupt the SHIP BEING SLICED INTO SCRAP for an interesting bit of world-building: on Earth, the traditional First Contact Day meal is salmon!)

"I need a dangerous, half-baked solution that breaks Starfleet codes and totally pisses me off! That's an order." I'm starting to think Captain Freeman might actually be overqualified for the Cerritos, y'all—she's REALLY awesome

OH SHIT IT'S BADGEY, this is a TERRIBLE IDEA

"How much contraband have you hidden on my ship?" "I don't know! A lot!"

Awwww, Boims!!!

AHAHAHAHAHAHA, FUCK THIS, PEANUT HAMPER OUT

BADGEY NOOOOO

AUGHHHHH WHAT THE CHRIST DID HE JUST—BUT—RUTHERFORD'S IMPLANT????

RUTHERFORD!!!!!!!!!!

SHAXS!!!!!!

F U C K ! ! ! ! !

ahaIOPugdfhagntpgjrq90e5mgu90qe5;oigoqgw4ouegrw5SP;IAEHURVa IT’S THE TITAN???????????

IT'S CAPTAIN WILLIAM T. RIKER ON THE MOTHERFUCKING TITAN??????????

i'm screaming I'M SCREAMINGGGGGG​TGGGTGQER;​LBHAOIBVNV;​OAPBIJNVagr;h;​oagruipuwtnaetbaetgq35ghqet

I'M SO GLAD THIS WASN'T SPOILED FOR ME WTF

I AM WEEPING LIKE A CHILD

...

(Just a brief 20-minute pause this time)

And oh wow, seeing Will and Deanna hits different after Picard too, in a few different ways, which I may even get into later now that my heartrate is back to normal, lmao

Oh, I am always here for some jokes at the expense of the Sovereign class. The Enterprise-E sucked. They should have built a new bigger model of the D and new Galaxy-class interiors for the TNG movies, and I will die on that hill

OKAY, FINE, YOU GOT ME, RUTHERFORD × TENDI WOULD BE ADORABLE AND THIS IS ACTUALLY A PRETTY GOOD SETUP FOR IT

Awwww, Shaxs though :( Congrats on the single most badass death in Star Trek history, dude. The Prophets would—well, the actual Prophets would probably be slightly confused about most of it, but Kira Nerys would be proud of you and I feel like that probably counts for more. RIP, Papa Bear

I am here all damn DAY for the Mariner–Riker parallels, ahahahahaha

Pausing it to record my prediction that Boimler's commitment to not caring about rank anymore is going to last 3... 2...

Yep.

Bradward, how DARE YOU.

"Those guys had a long road, getting from there to here." OH FOR THE LOVE OF—

What a brilliant way to resolve and renew the various character arcs and relationships moving into Season 2! The writers could easily have brought everything back to status quo—chaotic Mariner fighting with her mom and being a bad influence on Boimler, etc.—and done another 10 just like these, but I suspect that wouldn't have been ambitious enough for these writers. What a blast. I cannot wait for more.

Thanks for following along, friends! Stay tuned for my (similarly patchy and amateur) coverage of Discovery, starting next week!

[witharsenicsauce]

Chosen Stories From The War #43: A Secret Place to Pray

The ice on the ground created a blanket of glass that broke and splintered as they stepped over it. Parysatis led the way, sure-footed after years of hiking these treacherous trails. Gur-Rai followed, almost as confident but with the dexterity of a child taking their first steps. He watched the girl in front of him with silent curiosity as she raised her arm and let Tyche land.

“How much hunting do you get done with her?” Gur-Rai finally broke the silence. “Tyche’s a sweet old girl, but it seems like a bow or a rifle would be faster.”

“I catch as much as Aisha can in a day.” Parysatis said without looking back at him. “And that is what got me my seat at the left hand of the Khatun. She saw that I have many skills, not just good aim.”

“What exactly is your job for her?” Gur-Rai’s arms shot out as he slid backward on icy ground, and he barely managed to steady himself.

“I am her eyes across the steppe.” Parysatis said softly. “The Khatun cannot be in all places at once. But with Tyche’s wings, I can see the edges of our kingdom and the crevices under rocks.”

“She’s got good eyes.” Gur-Rai noted.

“As she should. I see through those eyes” Parysatis stopped and turned to him. “We shall start simply. You need to learn how to call your eagle.”

“Can I text instead?” Gur-Rai chuckled at his own joke. 

Parysatis did not laugh with him. “Your eagle is not a machine, you can’t just plug a code into it and make it obey. You need to learn to speak to it in ways it understands the way it respects.” She pointed down into the ravine beside them. “Go down there about 200 yards, and face me.”

Gur-Rai silently complied, looking back at Parysatis only once. She was watching him closely, and he saw the purple glow of her eyes in the low morning light. She was beautiful, but in a reserved kind of way. The type of girl to admire from afar, to wonder about briefly, and then to never to see again.

He finally stopped where she told him and turned to face her. She held out her other arm, and he mimicked her with his. From far away, he saw her stroke her eagle’s head softly, and then the glow of her eyes disappeared as she closed them.

Tyche leapt off Parysatis’ arm and came swooping down the ravine, her caw echoing in the high hills only once. Gur-Rai flinched a bit as she came close, but forced his arm to stay steady enough for her to land. 

And land she did, digging her claws into his sleeve, and he was happy he’d worn his armor for this. She ruffled her feathers and adjusted herself, and he saw the eagle’s eyes were glowing purple, like Parysatis’ had been.

Gur-Rai blinked, then reached out and gently patted the eagle on the head. “Good girl.” He said softly.

The glow faded from Tyche’s eyes, and he looked back up the hill to where Parysatis stood, her white hair blowing in the brisk wind. She held out her arm and made a noise like the coo of a pigeon and the screech of a fox all at once, and Tyche leapt from Gur-Rai’s arm and soared back up to her mistress.

He lowered his arm slightly, and saw that she had not closed her eyes this time. Tyche’s dark eyes remained so as Parysatis looked out towards where Gur-Rai stood, as though she were waiting for him.

He took a deep breath, thankful his siblings weren’t watching this, and pursed his lips, replicating the coo-screech he heard Parysatis make. For a moment, the eagle did nothing, so he tried again, and again, and again.

Tyche leapt from Parysatis’ arm again, and this time Gur-Rai knew to brace himself. He caught Tyche, letting her stabilize herself in his grasp, and when she finally did, he patted her head.

“There’s a good girl.” He said as he looked back up to Parysatis. She nodded to him slowly, gesturing for him to come back up the hill.

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Senuna shifted her weight onto her left foot and crossed her arms, looking up at Drakaina as the Khatun stared into her glass of vodka.

“Have you been pleased with what you see?” Drakaina asked. “My ancestor built this city, and his son, Ögedei Khan, fortified its walls. It has stood against all odds, even those from off-world

Senuna bobbed her head. “It’s impressive what you’ve done here, I’ll admit that.”

That made Drakaina look up, curiosity in her eyes. “Impressive…is that all?”

“I haven’t seen more than the city.” Senuna said. “And you told me you have much more territory than that.”

“The rest of it lies in villages and Elerium mines.” Drakaina added quickly. “They are relatively scattered, due to their natural geographic location.”

“Fair enough.” Senuna still refused to sit, instead shifting back onto her right foot and putting a hand on her hip. “But I assume this means they get your protection, such as it were?”

“Of course.” Drakaina stood up, tipping her glass back and draining the remainder of it. “Until their children can be trained to fight for us, we send our own to protect them. They repay us by sending their warriors when they are grown, who then fight to defend us.”

Senuna bit her lip. “Do those kids get a choice?”

“They all choose to serve us.” Drakaina said curtly. “I give them food, shelter and protection. In return, they give me their sword arms.”

“And I thought I was a shitty boss~” Senuna chuckled.

Drakaina glared at Senuna. “I care for each of my warriors as a mother cares for her children. Do not accuse me of being callous.”

“I’m a mother too…” Senuna hesitated before she uttered the last word. “...Well in any case, far be it from me to tell you how to do your job. But all my soldiers go onto the field having chosen to carry a gun.” 

“Is that why you sought help?” Drakaina retorted.

“You called me here, remember?” Senuna giggled. “I sought their help because, the Reapers, Skirmishers, Templars, and us? We have a common goal.” 

Drakaina moved back up to where her throne stood, but didn’t lower herself, instead opting to just stand in front of it. “I am not here to debate ideologies with you. The last raid was very successful, but the rewards were minuscule compared to what we require.”

“Okay.” Senuna raised a brow. “And that is what, exactly?”

“There is a small outpost just south of Bürd, where we believe ADVENT is looking to build yet another city center. The people there have set up a small village and are receiving supplies. They are guarded by hybrids in armor.”

“Oh how scary!” Senuna chuckled. “This almost sounds like one of our havens, and ADVENT attacks those all the time. This should be easy.”

“Should be.” Drakaina said. “It never is. I would like to borrow two of your Chosen this time.”

“I knew you’d take a liking to them.” Senuna giggled. “Konnie, again?”

“Her and her brother, the sniper. He can set up with my archers and offer range support.” Drakaina hesitated. “Commander, how much do you know about her?”

“Who? Kon-Mai?” She sighed. “I didn’t have access to her files when I was plugged in, if that’s what you’re asking. ADVENT had me thinking I was still back home, fighting aliens and taking numbers.”

Drakaina sat down and leaned against the armrest of her throne. One of the skulls shifted under the pressure. “I thought you were used to manage all of ADVENT’s network.”

“I was.” Senuna bobbed her head. “But it’s…like a dream. Someone could call a file up from my brain, and in my sleep I could interpret that information as something completely different.”

“So you knew nothing about the Chosen?” 

“I didn’t say that.” Senuna stopped, then looked away. “I heard her speak to me a couple times, but I interpreted her voice as something else. Someone else. They were always connected to someone I knew once. Dhar-Mon…well. His voice is pretty distinct. But Konnie, not entirely sure what I saw for her.” Senuna admitted. “The first time I really saw her was when she carried away Mox to one of ADVENT’s torture facilities.”

“So they do still participate in abductions.” Drakaina nodded. “That is valuable information.”

“Have you lost many to that method?” Senuna asked.

“No.” Drakaina picked up her empty glass and held it up, the light refracting through broken crystals. “…Only one.” 

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“Mai!”

At first, Kon-Mai didn’t even realize someone was calling her, until she heard footsteps directly behind her. She turned, and then slowed her brisk trek, allowing Aisha to catch up to her.

“Mai?” She raised a hairless brow.

“Yes, sorry. It…slipped out.” Aisha bowed. “Kon-Mai. I wanted to check on you; are you doing alright after that lesson?”

“I am fine.” Kon-Mai said curtly, turning away.

“You seemed really distracted after that first demonstration.” Aisha continued.

“Perhaps I was. But it should not concern you.” Kon-Mai scoffed. “I simply need a place to rest. Clear my head.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” Aisha chuckled. “I know a place actually. Come on.”

Kon-Mai watched Aisha take up a long stride in front of her, leading her westward toward where the sun was setting. She hesitated, but then the woman turned back and waved her to follow. In the low light, the gentle embroidery along her hijab glowed a soft blue.

Kon-Mai followed her silently, the smaller woman keeping up a fast pace that Kon-Mai kept time with easily. Once outside of the city, she looked back once toward the blue glow, and the barren land around it.

“Do you not farm here?” Kon-Mai asked. “The only vegetation I see is the animal feed…” 

Aisha shook her head. “As much as I would like to--I much prefer vegetables to meat, if I’m honest with you--it seems edible plants don’t take well to this soil anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“I heard they used to.” Aisha elaborated. “When my parents were fleeing ADVENT they briefly settled down around here, near Khorgo, and there was some arable land there.” She hummed a bit. “Sometimes I think about going back there and seeing if anything is left but…I have my new family here. As much as I want to look back.”

Kon-Mai remained silent, musing on this for a moment. “If you did go back…” She finally said. “What would you hope to find?”

Aisha didn’t answer her, and Kon-Mai abandoned the question when she looked around at the line of trees they suddenly stepped into. Larch trees with thick, needled branches reached out, covering the pale sky in a curtain of green.

“What is this place?”

“I come here to pray.” Aisha said. “The other warriors, they don’t mean to be rude, but they don’t really understand why I still practice. I come here so they won’t hound me for answers when all I want is a spiritual connection.”

“I can appreciate that.” Kon-Mai chuckled. “I often find my brothers in particular like to bother me when I am trying to meditate.”

Aisha chuckled. “I’m curious, your eldest brother seemed like he was at least interested in religion, but what exactly does ADVENT practice?”

“Practice…is a strong word. I suppose the religion of ADVENT centered around the Elders, and thus any customs were woven into their government.”    

“But what else?” Aisha kept prying. “What do they teach you about how the universe works? Where do you think people go when they die?”

Kon-Mai thought for a moment, trying to recall old teachings from almost a decade ago. “They never told us.”

“Never told you?”

“No. They never taught us of an afterlife. They only said there was the void, and if we failed them, they would throw us into nonexistence.”

Aisha stopped walking briefly at that, faltering in her steps as she looked up in surprise. “Oh…like Buddhism? Was there rebirth?”

Kon-Mai shook her head. “If there was, it was not attainable for us.”

“So you…would just die?” Aisha blinked. “That’s…terrifying. I’m sorry.”

“The idea of nonexistence never troubled me until I was staring it in the face.” Kon-Mai retorted. “And even then I would have chosen that over what my parents would do to me for failure.”

“And what would they do?” Aisha kept prying.

Kon-Mai’s silence served as an answer, and the two came to a silent stop in a small clearing, where the trees formed a small circle. 

Aisha settled down on her knees, facing Southwest, and Kon-Mai settled into her meditation pose beside her. Instead of closing her eyes, though, she watched Aisha instead, observing as she bowed, touching her head to the ground. Something tugged at the strings of her heart as she witnessed it, and soon she too closed her eyes.

They held that silent vigil until the sunlight fully faded, and the dim glow of orange clouds was the only light remaining. Surprisingly, it was Kon-Mai who broke the silence. As she heard Aisha get back to her feet, she asked “How does the Khatun feel about you practicing still?”

“The Khatun doesn’t mind.” Aisha shrugged. “Generally all her warriors are allowed to practice any religion they want. Many adopt Shamanic beliefs because, well, that’s the majority and it’s just easier.”

Kon-Mai followed her demonstration and stood. “And you did not adopt them as well?”

“That’s a long story, but no, I kept my own faith.” Aisha chuckled. “When I first came to Karakorum, I had a really rough time assimilating. It may sound counterintuitive but keeping to the traditions I was raised with helped me during that time.”

“This was after your parents…” Kon-Mai trailed off.

“Yes. I don’t remember the event really well. My clearest memory is after it was all over, and I was on a black horse, and Monkh…” Aisha broke off again, her voice shaking as she said “M-Monkh was carrying me.”

“Monkh?” Kon-Mai asked, suddenly blinking as though something was in her eye. Her temple stung for just a moment, and a shiver went up her back, all in such quick succession she herself hardly noticed it. “Who is Monkh?”

Aisha took a few steps, and then leaned back against one of the trees so she faced Kon-Mai. “She was the Jinong before me.” She said. “I might have mentioned we were close but…it was more than that.”

“More in what way?”

“She was almost grown up when they found me, and I was really young, extremely young. I had such a hard time adjusting to Karakorum, new people and language and food and it was all so overwhelming, I threw fits, I lashed out, and nobody would take me in, not even those who knew me.” She crossed her arms over herself. “Nobody but Monkh.”

“She adopted you?”

“She was more like a big sister than a mom.” Aisha admitted. “But…yes. She took care of me. She encouraged me to keep praying because praying helped calm me. She never forced me to, she wasn’t Muslim herself but…she always said it was important to remember the roots, especially those that gave me nourishment. She arranged for my meals to be caught, she sewed all my clothes and beaded my jewelry with her own two hands, and she taught me riding and archery and sword fighting. Nobody else believed in me. Monkh…Monkh believed in me.”

Kon-Mai swallowed, and realized she was holding back tears. “Her loss must have been very hard.”

Aisha nodded. “I regret so much from my childhood, but I most regret how much I took her for granted. I didn’t realize how precious life was until…” Aisha bit her lip, and when she spoke again, her voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”

Kon-Mai took a step toward the young woman, holding out a hand but hesitating to touch her. “I…I know how it feels to lose someone you loved, without ever being able to tell them goodbye, or how much they meant to you. It is a pain that sent me spiraling, I cannot imagine experiencing it as a child.”

Aisha stepped forward and grasped Kon-Mai’s hand, squeezing it. “Thank you…” Tears were streaming down her face now. “I just wish I could have thanked her.”

“Perhaps you still can.” Kon-Mai said. “If I have earned another chance, perhaps you will too.”

Aisha shook her head. “It’s a silly thing to hope for. And yet, I still do.”        

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The inside of the mine was not dark, but lit up in a rainbow of soft, glowing light. Dhar-Mon closed his eyes and felt the familiar hum of Elerium crystal radiating off his skin. Like a babe being swaddled, he felt comfort in this early memory.

Then he opened his eyes and composed himself, looking around at the miners around him. Most only payed him a few glances before squaring up their shoulders and returning to their work, running wheelbarrows full of sediment out and in and dumping them onto an assembly line, where more workers, smudged in dirt, sifted through the sediment and broke open geodes to get at the crystals inside.

He approached one of the miners, and they turned and gasped, startling backward and scrambling away, yelling something in Mongolian or…maybe Kazakh? He could not tell. Dhar-Mon only raised his hands in response, trying to demonstrate he was not there to hurt them. 

Luckily, one of the others, an old man who looked as though he had seen years in the mine, seemed to understand, and stepped forward. Dhar-Mon slowly lowered his hands, and bowed low to the person who was by all means his elder.

The old man smiled a toothless grin. “Sain uu, khüü mini!” The man chuckled, and upon realizing that Dhar-Mon didn’t understand him, broke into a sympathetic laugh. Dhar-Mon smiled awkwardly, looking around at the other miners that were still watching his hesitantly.

The old man beckoned Dhar-Mon over to the assembly line, where the others continued to sift through the silt and dirt, removing the Elerium from its earthen shell. He watched in curiosity as it was then sent down the line to be washed and sprayed, the dirt splashing over a young woman’s face as she cleaned the glass-like rock.

“This is difficult work.” Dhar-Mon said. “I sincerely hope the Khatun rewards you well.”

The man either didn’t hear him or didn’t understand him as he led Dhar-Mon farther along down the line, where the clean Elerium was taken into mortars and pestles and ground into shining, powdery dust. Each time the pestle struck the glowing rock, sparks would bounce away, and Dhar-Mon would flinch.

The glowing dust, pulsating with irradiated energy, traveled along the conveyor line to the end, where two others began re-mixing it with a soft, white powder, almost resembling dry clay. Their careful hands mixed the sparkling Elerium with this clay, before it was shoved off the table into a vat of liquid that began to boil. Dhar-Mon was at first nervous about this unknown reaction, until he saw the fire burning under the vat.

“They are stabilizing the Elerium. To keep it from degrading.” He rubbed his chin. “Fascinating. It seems to dampen the raw energy available but…” It made sense, if they were using it in things like jewelry, they didn’t really need the Elerium to pack that much of a punch.

The old man patted Dhar-Mon on the arm, chuckling as he returned to his post, leaving Dhar-Mon to either stay or go. The Hieromonk wandered around the vat for a few moments, watching as the water boiled away, leaving a paste of glowing blue rock that settled heavily in the bottom of the cauldron. The mix was not perfect, but he figured it would be further distilled and refined and sure enough, a thin looking lad came over, dragging a wheelbarrow and stopping only to reach in and scoop the rock-paste into the wheelbarrow.

Dhar-Mon raised a brow as he saw that the boy, who looked no older than a teenager, was not wearing cloves around this hot metal. And with that exhausted look in his eyes, that was absolutely asking for trouble. Dhar-Mon reached out, and the boy startled a bit, but looked up at Dhar-Mon almost like he was in a trance. Dhar-Mon did not have to pull hard to get the spade away from him, and he rolled up his sleeves and began doing the boy’s assigned work for him.

“I have many more scars than you.” Dhar-Mon said. “And I would like that to remain the truth.”

He wasn’t sure that the boy understood him, but he did begin tearing up. Once the wheelbarrow was full, Dhar-Mon took hold of it himself and pushed it along, the boy leading him to where it needed to go.

They approached the yawning mouth of the mine, and inside he heard pickaxes ringing against stone, and felt the pulsing radiation from the barely exposed rock. He stopped for a moment, gazing down into the black mouth that continued on seemingly forever…

A scream echoed from down the tunnel, and for a moment all the miners stopped, but when Dhar-Mon dropped the wheelbarrow and began to run toward the noise, the boy stopped him, crying out in Mongolian and shaking his head quickly.

“Someone could be hurt!” Dhar-Mon insisted. “I must help them!”

“No!” Was all the boy said, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “No. No. No.” 

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Pratal Mox stared out at the sun setting over the icy mountains and yellow grass, where the horses stood and picked out what little bits of vegetation they could pull from the ground, and he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You aren’t going to be able to sleep until you face this.” His wife said, moving her hand from his shoulder down around his waist.

“I am naively hoping it will not need facing.” He said. “Vox Prima…I mean. Kon-Mai has not shown much interest in her past, and I am hoping we can leave this place before it shows interest in her.”

“Even so. She has a right to know. And you have the power to tell her.” Elena moved to stand beside him. “Look at how much good it’s done Gur-Rai to have old friends and new friends again.”

“Gur-Rai is…” Mox twiddled his thumbs. “He is different. His memories were not completely overwritten by Camazotz, he remembers things the others don’t.”

“And maybe Kon-Mai remembers too.” Elena crossed her arms. “Or at the very least, I think someone in this camp does.”

Mox sighed. “That is what I fear. What if they tell her?”

“Tell her yourself.” She took his hand. “You’ve taken hold of your own fate time and time again, my love.”

“I know, and I’m tired.” Mox sighed. “It is not just my fate anymore. How do I tell Kon-Mai that I was the ferryman who led her to hell?” 

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Summary: The chapter begins with Gur-Rai and Parysatis going out to open field so Gur-Rai can train to become an eagle hunter. As it’s his first lesson, Parysatis starts him off by just teaching him how to land the eagle on his arm, which he does with some difficulty. Back at Karakorum, Drakaina is meeting with Senuna to talk about the next mission, and Senuna briefly chastises Drakaina on her leadership methods.

After the training, Aisha catches up with Kon-Mai and invites her to a secluded spot, where she likes to pray. She tells Kon-Mai that her devotion stems from her parental figure, Monkh, encouraging her to maintain that which connected her to her happiness. Aisha also clarifies that Monkh was the previous Jinong before her, and that one of her earliest memories is waking up in her arms.

Down in the Elerium mines, Dhar-Mon meets several of the miners, who are all diligently working on mining Elerium to be used recreationally and in warfare. One old man shows Dhar-Mon around, and he sees the process by which Elerium is stabilized. While helping a young boy bring the processed sludge in for refining, Dhar-Mon hears a scream from deeper in the mine.

In Karakorum, Pratal Mox reflects on how much he knows about Kon-Mai’s past. Elena encourages him to tell her, but he hesitates.

(Hello everyone, I know it’s been over a month and I’m so sorry I kept you all waiting. February just completely kicked my ass, starting with my cat passing away and ending with a slew of health problems that have left me pretty much out of commission until now. I’m not 100% better yet, but I am recovering and recovered enough to get this to you. I have NOT given up on the shark babies, and I’m still in this for the long haul!

Thanks to my buddies in the discord for helping me get my motivation!)

[zodiactalks]

Serial Killer Potential! According To Your Zodiac

The stars are not always 100% accurate in predicting our personalities. However, they can provide some pretty interesting and important insights to some aspects of our behaviours. We all can admit to having a dark side to us. Think about it! Even the bubbliest of individuals do tend to lean more on the morbid side of life at times. There seems to be something within us that finds comfort in morbidity. The question however remains, is the solace derived from the dark side of life enough to drive us into a murderous rage? Well, let’s see what the stars say shall we? 

Aries (March 21 - April 19): 

Aries are known for going for what they want no matter what. Is death a barrier they can simply overlook as a means to an end? Well, it turn out that it is for some. Serial killers such as Joseph Franklin, Donald Harvey, Paul Knowles, Keith Jespersen, Charles Sobhraj and Herbert Mullin are some of the headliners in the Aries serial killer hall of fame. Combined, their actions have been known to claim the lives of anywhere between thirty and slightly shy of sixty individuals.  Aries clearly are a blood lusty lot but are they lustier than the rest of the zodiacs?

Taurus (April 20 - May 20): 

Taurus seem to be giving the rest of the Zodiacs a run for their money as far as serial killer victims are concerned. While the number of notable killers may be on the lower end of the spectrum, the victims aren’t. Starting from the pioneer of the blood thirsty art of serial killing Mr. H. H. Holmes, fondly known as the Torture Doctor who has a record two hundred bodies under his belt to Martha Becks who has under twenty victims, Taurus serial killers have for sure carved their names into the walls of history. This zodiac also has a number of female contenders that are worth mentioning. We already talked about Martha Becks right? Well we can’t forget her sister in blood thirst, Amy Archer Gilligan. Other notable names worth dropping under this zodiac include The Moon Maniac (Albert Fish) and The Gorilla Killer (Earle Nelson).

Gemini (May 21 - June 20): 

Do not be fooled by the bubbly, every cheerful nature of Geminis. This happy adventurous bunch seem to have a liking for spilling blood. Notable serial killing Geminis make up about twelve name sin the killer hall of fame. A good number of these individuals have an interesting story to them. They were often found to have certain mental health challenges and were seemingly masters of double lives. Combined, their known victims account for a minimum of one hundred and twenty four souls.

Since we have established a culture of notable name dropping let us continue shall we. For Geminis, we have The Son Of Sam, Jeffery Dahmer, Kenneth Bianchi, The Hill side Strangler, Milwaukee Strangler, Richard Chase, The Vampire of Dusseldorf, John Collins, Author Shawcross, Leonard Lake, Wayne Williams, Danny Rolling, Peter Sutcliffe, and Robert Lee Yates.

Cancer (June 21 - July 22):

Do not be fooled by their calm exterior. Cancers can be a rather ruthless bunch if pushed to a corner. While they have a few mentionable names, only four are worth mentioning. Genene Jones, John Reginald, Carl Panzram and Gary Heidnik combined have a minimum of ninety two victims whose murders can be directly linked to them. The blood lust of Cancers can be attributed to their ability to love with every fibre of their being as well as their moody tendencies. So better not cross a Cancer on a particularly moody day.

Leo (July 23 - August 22): 

Leos are perhaps the least likely to be serial killers out of all the zodiacs. These gentle souls care more about enjoying life and all the mysterious and beautiful things it has to offer than getting irked by the little upsetting things that life throws at them. This, however, doesn’t mean that they are devoid of any mentionable names. Myra Hindley, Anthony Sowell and John Haigh together are responsible for the murders of at least twenty five victims.

Virgo (August 23 - September 22): 

When it comes to blood thirsty traits, Virgo are serious contenders. If we are name dropping, then allow us to mention just but a few. To start us off, we have Henry Lee Lucas who is responsible for more than one hundred and fifty seven victims. Others in this list include Rodney Alcala, Paul Bernardo, Richard Angelo, Albert DeSalvo, Richard Biegenwald, Harrison Graham, Ed Gein, Marybeth Tinning and Gerald Stano. The ten combined have claimed the lives of at least three hundred and ninety seven people. Not only are these Virgo headliners known for their numbers, they are also known for their grim methods.

Libra (September 23 - October 22): 

Libras have some of the most eclectic personalities in the zodiac yet have one of the least notable names in the serial killer hall of fame. Not to take away from their ‘glory’ but for the extremes that appear within this zodiac, four is an impressively low number. Patrick Kearney also referred to as The Freeway Killer is the star of this zodiac with a body count of up to forty three unfortunate souls. Fellow blood thirsty souls include Angelo Buono Jr., Bobby Joe Long and Gerald Gallego. Together, all four have a body count of at least seventy five people.

Scorpio (October 23 - November 21): 

Scorpios are a unique bunch. This is the first zodiac to have a bloody duo; Alton Coleman and Debra brown. Another one of your mentionable killers is Carl Eugene. Other blood thirsty members of this camp include Charles Manson, Belle Gunness, Nannie Doss and William Heirens. These notable mentions are responsible for the loss of at least one hundred and sixty nine lives.  

Sagittarius (November 22 - December 21): 

For a people whose zodiac sign is half beast and half man, the likelihood of serial killer tendencies is high. While this zodiac has not attracted a large crowd of killers, it does have some of the more famous ones. Ted Bundy for example is a member of this cosmic family. He is not only renowned for his killing sprees but his successes at escaping the arm of the law even after it had caught up with him severally. Other notable mentions include Richard Cottingham, Edmund Kemper, Carlton Gray, and Denis Neilsen. Together, this murderous bunch have claimed the lives of at least seventy four people.

Sagittarius are known for their great conversational skills as well as their wits. It is no wonder that some would speculate that the number of serial killers under this zodiac that are yet to be discovered could be shockingly high.

Capricorn (December 22 - January 19): 

It is natural for Capricorns to distance themselves from people. They do not trust easily and it takes a lot to get into their inner circle. Their natural distrust can tend to make them rather cold individuals. It is no wonder that the total body count of Capricon serial killer victims rises to as high as one hundred and nineteen. Our notable mentions under this zodiac include Dean Corll, Joe Ball, Ian Brady, Charles Ng, William Bonin, and Vincent Johnson.

Aquarius (January 20 - February 18): 

Aquarius are another happy zodiac that does not seem to be blood thirsty. There are only four notable mentions under this zodiac with a combined body count of forty nine victims.

Pisces (February 19 - March 20): 

Pisces are known to have two extremes. They can either be super relaxed individuals or super intense. It’s probably the latter that has seen them accrue at least twelve serial killers with a body count of at least two hundred and seventy nine victims.

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