#Ring of International Stars Experience

[darkmoongodess]

2PM SLT RISE CORRUPTED WRESTLING

2PM SLT RISE CORRUPTED WRESTLING

★ 2PM SLT (Los Angeles) ★ 4PM CST (Chicago) ★ 5PM EST (NYC)

with our Comms: My Tie & Mr. Magic

This show is FREE FOR YOU, & Sponsored by Sloane, representing... Villains BDSM Erotica and Dance Club https://linktr.ee/villainsbdsmclub

In our first Match we see Kimberly one on one against Mila

Then Koa goes one more time against Chris Ryder

Then, Finally n our Main Event we will have the Mens Inter Continental Champion Hiram "The Dark Prophet" stepping in the Ring against Dark Lotus

Join us @ RISE ARENA https://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Gigli%20Live/110/165/2001 ➥P.S. COMMS/PROMOS on Secondlife Voice, TURN IT ON, so you can hear us! (also take off any laggy HUDs tummy talkers/titlers etc)

[pepperyduck]

“roomates” with satoru gojo

 this is part five of my kinktober event!

word count: 2.3k

warnings: nsfw, roomate au, fingering, gojo has a nasty mouth, pwp!, virgin reader, overstim. (18+ mdni!)

notes: i love the idea of actor and roomate gojo so much,,, may talk about it later. uploading early again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

kinktober masterlist | masterlist

having the satoru gojo as your roommate is quite the experience.

it was odd—

you had known satoru in college, always somehow getting stuck in the same overflow housing on campus. you had gotten to know each other well, being forced to live with the other off and on. after he had gotten his degree in drama—and you got your degree in a successful STEM major—he proposed moving in together. you needed a place off campus, and he needed someone to room with, because rent was too high for him to afford on his own as a budding actor.

things were fine for a while, daily routines consisted of seeing one another regularly. but then satoru had his first big gig. he disappeared for months, needed for a last minute replacement. he told you about the role; a younger version of a strong—no, the strongest—sorcerer. apparently, he got to play his part in a dramatic friendship breakup, which you figured perfectly suited the way satoru acted normally.

his fame quickly rose, with the series being released only a few months later. after that, satoru never really came around all that often; you saw him maybe twice a month, if you got lucky. but even after that, satoru stayed in the apartment. you didn’t mind, honestly, he kept up with his side of the rent plus some.

but the really odd part?

your social media feed.

every social wouldn’t shut up about him—“upcoming star, satoru gojo makes an impact in new tv series,” “he’s so hot, i’d let him do whatever he wanted,” “I NEED HIM,”

and yeah, maybe curiosity got the best of you when you searched up the fanfiction—but hey, people seemed like they would kill to be in your position. the creative minds of those online made you see your goofy, struggling artist of a roommate in a different light. the way they wrote about his chest, and how smooth and toned it is, or his sparkly blue eyes and how they could make clothes fall of with just a look. recently, satoru had shared in an interview his fingers are 6 inches, and boy did people go feral over that.

they focused on every part. his soft fingertips, and how lengthy his fingers actually are the more you look at them. the subtle veins that ran over the back of his hand and up his arm. his middle and ring finger, how nicely they slide in and out, hitting that spot, coaxing you toward—

“whatcha readin’?”

the abrupt question shocks you out of your trance, making you yelp and practically throw your phone across the room. it lands face down beside your vanity, earning a loud thud when it hits the floor. your heart speeds up as you turn to face your roommate, internal temperature rapidly rising.

“jesus, satoru! what are you doing home?” you ask, praying that he wouldn’t take it upon himself to grab your phone for you.

“it’s my apartment, too, y’know,” he retorts, throwing his hands on his hips dramatically. “i’m gonna be here for a few days, if you don’t mind.” every word off his tongue is laced in sarcasm. it’s annoying.

and just as you try to reply, gojo swoops to the other side of the room to grab your phone, intently staring at the screen before you can even say, “stop!” you want to run away because you just know he’s reading pure filth about himself that you looked up. but you find yourself unable to move whatsoever, only able to watch in horror as your roommate reads fanfiction about himself. immediately, a sly grin overcomes satoru’s expression, and his eyes flicker from the phone to you over his sunglasses.

“this is pretty detailed stuff,” satoru teases. you’re able to tell he is in fact reading whatever you had pulled up on your phone, because he’s taking his sweet time scrolling and reading through all the divine things said about his hands.

“stop, satoru,” you whine, pathetically reaching for your phone. gojo holds it out of your reach, of course, and even though you almost came to grab your phone that was almost touching the ceiling, you can’t quite reach it. “please just go away,” you sigh, giving up and flopping back down on your mattress. you can only look on, still mortified, as satoru continues scrolling.

after a few heavy minutes and some more comments on your choice of fiction to read, he throws your phone back on the bed next to you, placing his hands on his hips once more.

“how long were you gonna keep that from me?”

“never really planned on telling you, satoru. leave me alone.” you reply, grabbing your phone so it’s out of gojo’s reach.

“you could’ve just asked—,”

“go away—huh?” you furrow your brows and look at the taller man, who’s sassily posed next to your bed, “don’t fuck with me like that.”

“i’m not.” he assures you.

satoru wasn’t joking. in fact, he had never been more serious in his life. he’d always thought you were pretty – more like drop dead, breathtakingly beautiful – but never mustered up the courage to talk to you about it. you were his friend, his roommate. he didn’t want to scare you off. but all chances of him not scaring you off were thrown out the window because he knew you wanted him now.

so, yes, he did what he did with every other girl—encouraging a hot make-out session after you got over the embarrassment of what was on your phone. you hadn’t had a chance to think about all those stories you read online, because it was all happening to you in real time.

with your lips in a permanent lock, satoru takes his time rubbing his hands all over your body, grabbing your waist, flipping up the skirt you had worn in the previous hours to run errands—

“wait,” you labored out, breathing heavy as you pushed your roommate’s shoulders away from you, “i’ve never—i haven’t…” your words are tripping over themselves into silence as you try to explain to your – gorgeous, famous, actor – roommate that you’re a virgin.

queue satoru’s head almost exploding. he swears then and there that his nose should’ve started to bleed, and his face turned an awful shade of red at the news. it was unfathomable in his mind that you, his smoking-hot roommate, was a virgin. he swore he saw you come home with your ex-boyfriend plenty of times…but maybe you were saving yourself, or something.

“stop looking at me like that. you were a virgin too.” you scoff at his ogling, crossing your arms over your chest. you’re still trapped against your headboard, the sheer size of satoru making you stay in one place. your legs are draped over his thighs, not quite straddling but close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off of your clothed pussy.

“do you want me to finger you?”

the crude question rolls off his tongue with ease, and you smack his shoulder with the palm of your hand in return. but again, he’s being serious. it takes you a few seconds to realize he’s being serious, he wants to finger you and it’s written all over his face.

after a few moments and shocked blinks, you nod your head.

satoru’s nosebleed actually happens whenever he gets you in position; you’re laid back with your legs on top of his, knees pressing into his waist. he just stares in utter disbelief at how cute and sexy you look, flustered all because of him. he runs the pad of his thumb over the mound in your panties, relishing in how soft, warm and damp you are. he can’t take his eyes away from how his thumb presses into the flesh, pushing down just to watch how his thumb gets swallowed by it.

“satoru—your nose is bleeding,” you gruffly state, snapping the white-haired man back to reality. one hand stays pressed to you while he lifts the other one to wipe under his nose with the back of his wrist.

low and behold, a few droplets of blood smear on the back of his wrist—but he’s too entranced by you to care. he looks back in your eyes, wiping his face with his shirt grossly.

“i’m okay—can i take them off?” satoru asks, almost politely if he wasn’t bleeding from the nose at how horny he is. his fingers hook into the waistband, eagerly awaiting your nervous little nod that you give him. he rips the thin fabric off your legs, taking it upon himself to lift you up and move your legs so he can toss your panties to the side of the room.

your immediate response is to snap your thighs together, but satoru quickly stops you and holds your legs open, forcing you to show your most intimate area to him. he drools over how pretty it looks, folds spread open and glistening, a perfect display of anatomy. he’s in love with the view alone. a prominent tent pokes in his sweatpants, but he ignores the feeling to focus on the task at hand.

“stop staring,” you meekly speak up, eyes looking anywhere else but at your celebrity roommate.

satoru’s bright irises look up at you before asking, “can i?” with the looks of a child begging for a piece of candy. after another quick, nervous nod, satoru swipes his thumb over your hole, then all the way up to over your clit. the sensation makes you wriggle and gasp, it’s odd being touched by someone else—but it feels good, even better than alone. natural lubrication practically drips off your pussy, so prettily, and satoru continues dragging his thumb up and down, paying close attention to how you whimper or move around when he gets to the bundle of nerves poking out.

you feel particularly needy at his ministrations, they’re so slow and it leaves you aching for more when he moves to less sensitive parts of your cunt. every time your eyes flash to gojo, he’s completely locked on what’s between your plush thighs, making you all the more embarrassed. embarrassment is thrown away, though, when his middle and ring fingers close together and creep up to slowly rub your clit.

your body jolts and satoru silently giggles, god, you’re so sensitive for him, he might go insane. he finds it simply endearing how well you react to him. each small circle he draws over your bud makes your thighs twitch and hole clench, and from his view, he can see it all perfectly. satoru’s eyes look up at you for once, just to see your head thrown back on the pillow and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth to silence yourself.

“don’t be quiet, babe,” he says, and your eyes snap open to be brought back to reality.

“wh—uuht?” you drawl, mind hazy and foggy from just the little bit of pleasure he was providing. but as your mouth is open, he speeds his fingers up, forcing you to practically yell out, “satoru—wait!”

“i wanna hear you,” gojo taunts, his voice light and happy, not at all giving the impression he was playing with your cunt.

he does not wait, or slow down, he only continues to quicken the pace of which his fingers circle your clit. he feels accomplished when you finally begin to let out little moans and suck in air through your teeth, knowing the feeling of his finger pads was becoming all too much. this was the type of thing he lived for—making cute, inexperienced girls (you) lose their mind from pleasure.

it’s the type of pleasure that you weren’t able to achieve yourself; it made the bottoms of your feet tingle, and your legs move on their own—and the familiar feeling of an orgasm was quickly building up. the knot in your lower abdomen grows tighter and more intense, making you whine and thrash below your roommate.

satoru’s other hand comes down to prod his index finger at your tight hole, an unfamiliar feeling to you—especially as it’s being done by someone else. he pushes his finger in, causing another yelp to come from the back of your throat—but it doesn’t hurt. gently fucking you with just the tip of his finger, satoru’s hand focused on your clit speeds up more.

“mm—satoru, think i’m close,” your words are rushed as you warn him, but his movements don’t falter in the slightest.

“yeah? gonna cum on my fingers?” he teases, “gonna cream all my hand?”—and if you weren’t already so close, you would’ve kicked him out at the taunting. instead, you throw your arms over your face and try your best to hold back the feeling—wanting it to last as long as possible. he slowly pushes his finger in more and more, gradually coming to fuck you with one thin, long finger. the first bit he’s fully inside, it’s uncomfortable, but the pressure fades the more he plays with you. the bubble of your orgasm grows and grows until you’re about to topple over the edge.

“i’m gonna cum,” the words come out your mouth in a long, sultry string— satoru’s never heard anyone sound so good while telling him that.

“yeah, that’s it—come on, baby,” satoru encourages you, his voice having dropped multiple octaves to sound a million times more sexy — far from the satoru you’d come to know. his words force the orgasm to crash over you, your body continually jolting and stuttering—beginning to fight satoru because he doesn’t stop.

“i—i finished—stop, satoru—ohmygod—,” you stutter out, and satoru presses his elbows against your thigh, rendering you immobile.

“you’re so sensitive, princess,” satoru teases again, and you catch his eyes in a downright primal stare,

“gonna make you cum on my fingers again, baby.”

[teaboot]

TOP 10 PERSONAL FAVE MOVIES TO WATCH WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE ASS

I don't like movies that stress me out because life is already stressful but I DO love catharsis comedy found family friendship fantasy and violence so here are my top 10 movies and series to have a good time watching

Numbered for convenience but not in any particular order

John Wick 1 and 2: An ordinary man grieving the loss of his wife gets dragged back into his past as a shadowy, invisible world of international killers for hire is slowly revealed to be living among us. A love note to set design, lighting, and choreography. My favourite part is fixating on the symbolism. DO NOT WATCH 3. 4 is okay. DO NOT WATCH 3. There is a dog death in 1 that will make you cry so skip that part if you have to. DO NOT WATCH 3.

The lord of the Rings, all 3, extended edition best watched if you're on the couch with the flu and expect to fall asleep OR if it's your day off and it's raining outside OR if you have like 5 people lounging around in pajamas

Six Underground: Essentially an hour and a half long car commercial music video with found family and a fresher take on acommon plot. Ryan Reynolds essentially writes and directs a Michael Bay movie where 6 independant criminals gather together to overthrow a violent foreign dictatorship. You show up for a dumb heist and walk out ready to build a guillotine. TW for violence, car crashes, chemical warfare, and genocide. A very cathartic ending. Does unfortunately do the whole "vague, impoverished middle-eastern country" thing but the citizens are actually show as human beings which is a nice change of pace and oh wow that's depressing isn't it

The Princess Diaries 1 and 2: A sort-of-a-loser teenage girl, played by a 2001 Annie Hathaway, learns that her late father was a king of a foreign nation and must become a confident and responsible leader for his people. There is a scene in the rain where you will experience emotions. Best watched with snacks. 2 features an enemies-to-lovers type deal with Chris Pine.

Ella Enchanted: A shrek-style semi-musical fantasy romance in which a young woman is cursed at birth to do everything anyone tells her to do. Features several Queen songs and dance numbers sung by Annie Hathaway and that guy who plays the sad dog guy in Hannibal.

Stardust: A huge loser travels from 1800s England (?) to a magical world in order to fetch a fallen star for the insufferable love of his life before she marries a massive douchebag. The huge loser? Charlie Cox. The star? A living person. Also a whole bunch of princes are ALSO looking for them as a race for the throne while discreetly killing each other off. And also a bunch of witches want to eat her so they can be young and sexy. 11/10. I used to watch this 10 minutes at a time on a YouTube channel that posted it in chunks filmed on a digital camera in their living room

The Last Holiday: Queen Latifah, playing someone played by Queen Latifah, has been working an underappreciated minimum wage job for years, living a safe and conservative life trying to lose weight and save money. Then she finds out she has months to live, and decides to finally quit her job and blow it all on one massive luxury holiday vacation complete with five-star dining, making friends and finding love and confidence along the way. It's definitely corny but it makes me so happy thank you Queen Latifah

Zathura: It's the plot to the original Jumanji but in space instead of the rainforest. But listen to me: There's a twist reveal at the end that you need to pretend isn't there. It is vitally important when you get to that part- and you will know what part when it happens- that you pretend it didn't. Otherwise, a fresh and enjoyable adventure for any age!

Redacted cause I haven't seen it in a long time and it may be worse than I remember, gotta rewatch

Bullet Train. You go in expecting a ham-fisted find-the-mcguffin style action comedy and are blindsided by excellent narrative symmetry and genuinely likeable characters. Fresh takes on old themes and creative action sequences. My little brother said "It's good", and he's a man who once sincerely argued that Lord of the Rings could have been better. It's fun and punchy violence with just enough smart stuff to not let your brain get bored

[novlr]

Types of Character Arcs

Just like there are various flavours of ice cream to satisfy our taste buds, there are different types of character arcs to captivate readers’ imaginations.

Transformational Arc: A character undergoes a profound transformation throughout the story. This transformational arc takes them on a journey of personal growth, where they evolve, learn from their experiences, and undergo significant change. Think Frodo Baggins from The Lord of the Rings, who starts as an ordinary hobbit and becomes a heroic figure, or Cinderella, who goes from being a mistreated servant to a princess.

Flat or Static Arc: Not all character arcs involve drastic change or growth. In a flat or static arc, the character remains relatively unchanged throughout the story. Instead of personal transformation, these characters serve as a stabilizing force or a moral compass within the narrative. They maintain their core values, beliefs, or traits, providing stability and guidance for others. Sherlock Holmes is a prime example of a character with a flat arc. His brilliant deductive reasoning and logical nature remain consistent, while the world around him evolves.

Positive Change Arc: In a positive change arc, a character starts with flaws, struggles, or a particular mindset, but over the course of the story, they experience personal growth and positive transformation. They learn valuable lessons, overcome obstacles, and develop into a better version of themselves. This arc is often associated with themes of redemption, self-discovery, and the triumph of the human spirit. Characters like Ebenezer Scrooge from A Christmas Carol or Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games exemplify positive change arcs.

Negative Change Arc: Contrasting the positive change arc, the negative change arc delves into the descent or downfall of a character. It explores the moral decline, corruption, or internal conflicts that lead the character astray. This arc can be dark and intense, showcasing the destructive power of choices or external influences. Characters like Macbeth from Shakespeare’s play or Anakin Skywalker in Star Wars demonstrate the negative change arc. 💻✨ Discover how the transformative journeys of character arcs breathe life into your stories, and captivate the hearts and minds of your readers. You can read the full post in the Reading Room at the link above.

[wmarximoff]

𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐞𝐚 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: because only you can make Wanda feel at home.

warnings (18+): smut, strap-on sex (r receiving), name-calling, spanking, daddy kink, slight breeding kink, choking, weed consumption, mental health issues. MINORS DNI.

pairing: stoner!emo!Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 5k

masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

In the light of Wanda Maximoff's gaze the stars did not twinkle in flashes of silver that night – but neither they did during the night before that, or even the other night before that, one colder on the skin than the other, the light slowly fading into the dull, aged silver of the big city sky. There was no sparkle in those eyes that stared at the dark sky above her head.

The noise from the street below, the cars and passers-by and that sound of life, didn't reach up there on the seventh floor – everything blended into an amalgamation just down there, a distant and reserved experience. The sky vault was vast and absconding like a black hole that swallows everything that orbits it, and the apartment was closer to the sky than to the earth. The stars were there as they always were, but each twilight was duller than the previous one.

Not that Wanda wasn't used to a kind of internal calluses, but even the unlit night sky reflected the mood of those dead eyes in a somber emerald green, which didn't see the brightness of the world around her – eyes that didn't see anything else, as in a kind of trance, a willful blindness of blurred faces.

Even if the night had been serene and peaceful, a veil of moonlight draped over the metal of the rings spread across the lengths of her fingers, there would still be no glow that could pierce the shrouded bubble around Wanda's hunched silhouette, who smoked a long, white cigarette with a yellow filter, placidly seated in a chair with withered legs made of dark and solid plastic – the apartment's balcony was as modest as a boat that can only hold two or three people, and a group of four people would not fit there even squeezed against each other, with their elbows and shoulders touching as if inside a crowded elevator.

The Bronx apartment was small, the best a couple of college students with a part-time job could afford on the lowest paycheck. For a pair of twins like that, it was almost like sharing the visceral walls of the same uterus again.

Sokovian literature accompanied her open just above her pale thighs joined together, who was only wearing light denim shorts on that tragic New York summer night, warm and dry. This one, however, was a small book in a soft cream cover, scarcely more than a hundred bound pages—a crowded metric of Cyrillic letters in uniform stanzas; poems in a language reminiscent of her native tongue, her mother's favorites. Wanda hated poems and she hated her mother as well.

But sometimes, as if in a sardonic torture, it was necessary to conjure up that ghost of the past, foreboding and restless, struggling at its core, because the shroud of monotony was too much in the bosom of the newfound adult life in the big city, so far from home as Wanda was. She had gone to study, away from war and famine and her mother – but poverty has to be a constant specter in a young immigrant's life, like a hidden tumor, sucking little by little.

Sometimes homesickness visited her at night, when the world was too much to bear outside her comfort zone. And then came the urge, the chest pulsing hard, crackling under her skin, seeking refuge in the idea of that creature who primarily should offer her some kind of comfort, however Wanda did not actually taste that source of support as primigenous as Pietro Maximoff, her twin brother, had done, drinking it straight from the fountain.

Pietro was sweet, a good boy and a fine son, but their mother hated her as much as only a mother can love a daughter. And Wanda loved her as much as a daughter can hate a mother.

And so she read, traced with the tip of her peeling black-painted fingernail each line of that little set of Sokovian poems, looking for comfort where she thought she could find it in those withered lines. But it didn't do any good, not when Wanda hated poems, thought they were boring and pointless. And even the cigarettes didn't help her enjoy them with an active air of a condemned intellectual, despite the fact that she loved the sweet, harsh death that smoked down her throat, quieting her since the beginning of the immature nerves of adolescence.

But it wasn't the infuriating poems or the countless cigarette butts pressed against the hollow bottom of a metal ashtray one after the other like a handful of unlit candles stuffed into the top of a birthday cake, or the memory of a monotone childhood in the Sokovian province that would fill the void in her chest, and that Wanda had always known.

Poems were boring, cigarettes were rotting her insides, and from the bosom of youth she'd yearned to pack up her things and leave Sokovia behind for good, without a kiss or a goodbye. But the dream died still in the womb – there was, far from home, a certain depressing monotony, so different from the monotony of living a life in a place where you don't want to be, imbued in the action that was occasionally crossed by long sleepless nights, in the company of stress and intrusive thoughts.

She didn't feel at home in New York, but Sokovia had never been her home either. But finding a certain degree of depressed boredom within her dream seemed worse to Wanda than the monotony of living in a house where everything looked the same. There was something wistful for her to discover that everything she'd ever wanted could be just as depressing.

There was just something wrong, something wrong with her spirits, like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that didn't quite fit together. Maybe the world didn't spin for her the way it did for others. Maybe she just expected too much from a world that always offered so little.

“Are you smoking on the balcony again, Wanda?”

The voice came rumbling from within the walls of the small apartment, from the back of her head – a high, masculine tone and charged with that hard-talking rhythm of south-eastern European accent still limiting the pronunciation of the English words, sanding them harshly, as in a solid chant.

“I am,” was her reply, the dull tone of a corpse still harboring a soul that struggles to shed its shell, her accent sounding just as strong as his, “I kind of needed this right now.”

“Dude, you know you need to stop doing it.”

Towards Wanda then, from the profuse darkness of a living room with lights out and gushing dimness that swallowed the hand-me-down furniture placed there, the figure of a young boy halfway to finish performing the thrusting motion his elbow into the right hole of a dark blue denim jacket, new and clean, freshly pressed and still smelling of lavender fabric softener.

Wanda looked at him with emerald irises tired by poetry, from under her long lepidopterous lashes laden with smoke – Pietro, tall and strong, had tresses of his poorly bleached hair cut short, a mane of unruly hair soft to the touch, and a beard with wisps of unmade dark threads carpeting his square jaw and around his thin lips. There was something herculean about the boy; he had always been something of an athletic, if even dour, type, a hit with the young ladies their age, the twins. The Fast Jock and the Weird Girl.

“You smoke all the time too, don't be a hypocrite now, Piet. Isn’t fair.”

“It's not because of that,” snapped her twin brother in bad manner, creasing a patch of fur between his bushy brows, then adjusting the cut of the jacket to his broad shoulders as he grabbed her by the lapels in his big hands, pulling the garment forward.

Although not so close to her brother, separated by the distance of an outstretched arm, Wanda was quite capable of distinguishing the aroma of woody cologne and fresh and striking deodorant, like a walk through the men's cosmetics section in a corner pharmacy.

“The neighbors will complain about the smell again and you know we don't have the money to pay another fine. Miss Harkness will be the first to complain, you know she always does. I'm not going to pay anything now, I don't have a penny left in my pocket. You'll have to manage to pay that fine if she complains again. And you’re the one doing the talking this time, not me.”

“Miss Harkness hates me,” Jadish eyes rolled in their sockets, a twirl of scorn, “She will complain about me every chance she gets.”

“Just put this shit off, c’mon.”

“No.”

“Wanda.”

But Wanda yielded to the stern blue gaze of her older twin brother, and with a single flick of her right wrist, she pressed the burning end of her cigarette against the bottom of a red tin ashtray placed just above the small table next to her, imagining that that piece of metal blurred by ember ash and toasted smoke was the pointed face of the middle-aged landlady, owner of profuse brown locks and a big pearly smile, who was always carrying in her arm a white rabbit, old and fat, almost similar to a puffy domestic cat.

“Okay, are you happy now?”

“My pocket certainly is, yeah,” the boy with the unnaturally pale hair muttered under his breath, before turning on heels shoved in white sneakers and turning his back on his sister, sitting in the high chair on the balcony.

“And why is this house so dark, eh? Turn on some lights every now and then, Wanda. We’re not animals living in a cave. This looks like one of those vampire movies... you're in your vampire phase again, is that it?”

The single lamp on the ceiling of the room had been turned on by Pietro's indicator pushing the plastic switch up, a beam of pearly white light coming from inside the house, passing through the tall sliding glass doors and bothering Wanda's irises, acclimated to the darkness of a dull night, in a corrosive ardor that incited her to squint her eyelids and crease her brow like a nocturnal animal exposed to the artificial light of a car lantern on the road, hiding her face behind a curtain of thick long, dark hair in a back-necked motion.

Then Wanda, her pale face exposed to the plastic light of the ceiling lamp, suddenly became aware of her brother's state – the newly acquired jacket still smelling of the clothing store, the sneakers clean with soapy water, the collar of the shirt all perfumed and his hair well combed, the ends of his beard well trimmed, he all spotless and smelling good. And a crease of curiosity crept between her dark brows, because Pietro's usual state consisted of basketball shorts and an alternation or two between a pair of baggy shirts that he didn't wash all that often.

“Why are you so dressed up like that? That jacket is new,” she got to her feet then, the soles of her bare dusty feet hitting the cold balcony floor before stepping onto the warm floorboards inside the house, “Are you going to some job interview or something?”

“Job interview on a Saturday night, сестричко? Pff, yeah, I'm going out with a girl. You know, like actual normal people do on their free weekends.”

Pietro looked at her with a mischievous little smile broken at the corner of his thin lips, calling her “little sister” in his native language as he always did when he was purposely teasing her, treating her like a little girl, a silly girl and so ignorant of the lives of adults they should have at the end of that time in life, in a youth encapsulated in the advent of adulthood, which in all its layer of social shyness could never have considered the fact that the brother was going on a date.

And Wanda's brows furrowed for a bit, a thin squeegee of embarrassing embarrassment tugging at the pit of her stomach, her ego vaguely insulted by that childishness insinuated by Pietro – because indeed it was Saturday night, a hot and sultry night of summer in the Big Apple, and the young twin had organized no program for herself but reading pages of Sokovian poetry until her brain became an overworked illiterate while she smoked the ashes of her meager existence, interspersing the two actions between sips here and there of red tea that would eventually cool down and spill all over into her cup. College life hadn't been as kind to Wanda as it had been to Pietro, after all.

“But,” she muttered in a tight voice, brows still pinched together, “But I thought today we were going to—”

“Man, to tell you the truth I'm already well short of time,” the guy then pressed the pad of his right thumb against the side of the cell phone he fished out of the back pocket of his dark jeans, unlocking the device's screen in a flash of white glow next to his apollonian nose, which kind of hinted at the structure of her own.

“Damn it, it's almost half past eight – Monica will kill me if I'm late again. Just... you don't have to wait up for me, right Wanda? If anything, just give me a call,” and Wanda followed him with her eyes, her mouth still half open in a dead sentence, when Pietro's right fingers closed around the tin handle of the front door.

“Побачимось.”

And so Pietro was gone, the door closing with a metallic click behind him without the real expectation of a not really necessary answer from his sister, the parting word already echoing from the corridor outside. He never expected a comeback, it's true. And once again Wanda found herself alone, prostrate like a dead plant in a red clay pot in the heart of that apartment with its withered bare walls and warm floor, sulky and damp during the sticky seasons of heat and cold and bitter in the seasonal blows of winter.

Before the height of her stomach, her right fingers fit into the crooks of her left fingers, her fingertips fidgeting with the handful of silver rings dotted there, twirling them, pressing and pulling them around the spans of her fingers. The dark nail polish on her thumbnail was scratched, but she didn't care about it that much.

Pietro didn't come back for something he hadn't forgotten, but Wanda continued to stand at the door like the most faithful of dogs, as if he were going to open the door and say he'd changed his mind, opting for an evening washed down with salty buckets of popcorn and classic American sitcom along with his little sister's company. But there wasn't that. Nothing happened minutes later. From the kitchen faucet, dripping water trickled into the aluminum sink at a broken, faintly vertiginous rhythm. A fly tinkled its little fluttering wings around the lamp above her head of dark hair.

And then isolation took hold in Wanda who caged the oxygen inside her lungs, as if that house and its walls were nothing more than a bulwark that segregated her from the outside world to that door through which her brother had left her, as if the small apartment in the Bronx was her own cocoon of the social, an abode that harbored a being unworthy of sunlight, a being similar to her.

Wanda found herself trapped in a dilemma as much as she was trapped inside her own home, her body and her mind. She was tired of being hemmed in by the ceiling and floor of the apartment, and she could no longer bear the thought that with Pietro far away, as far away as he was now, being the social animal he always was, Wanda would have to be haunted by the company itself.

Without him there was just her, alone and aimless, like a shipwrecked man floating on an old, swollen piece of wood in a vast ocean where sky and sea met on the horizon, no sign of life nearby, the water so deep and dismal that you couldn't see the sand at the bottom. Just her, floating alone in the dark.

And, together from the pillars of their maternal womb, that primary cradle shared between the two twin children, Wanda did not feel that in fact she had been born to be just her, to live a life as reclusive as the experiences of today's hermit that were available before her, and despite her assertion to her brother that solitude was good for her reclusive spirit, the caliber of her involuntary anthropophobia gave an anxious squeeze to the core of young Wanda Maximoff's chest.

Solitude pleased her, but she only evoked a profuse disgust at the idea of loneliness, of isolation. Wanda feared being alone with her own thoughts.

“Fuck it.” Her peach lips curled into a long thin, taut line.

With the fingers of her right hand, Wanda searched for something in the pocket of her thin burgundy knit jacket, her black nails cut short, then slipping lightly over the half-dented pack of cigarettes also placed inside to, finally, hook against the material of her phone with which cigarettes shared space inside the cut in her pocket. She picked up the device with a certainty born of the anxious restlessness that gushed in the walls of her pharynx.

Wanda then reached for it with a movement of her elbow, bringing her phone close to the round tip of her button nose, unlocking the device's screen with the help of her right thumb. And, without hesitating to dive into that cluster of digital apps, she did what she had to do – what everything in that pitifully withdrawn situation in which she found herself in her own social exile compelled her to do, the digits of her fingers pressing the glass screen, typing on the digital keyboard.

hey can you come over?

piet is out

And then, after a second or two, a new message typed by her quick fingers flashed.

i don't wanna be alone tonight

The emerald eyes, profuse and dull in their clear irises, screwed up in anticipation of the answer like a faithful waiting for a sign from their god, staring at that little speech bubble as long as she could.

The folds of Wanda's fingers pressed against the edges of the poor phone, the loops of her rings scraping against the dark plastic. Just waiting, anticipating, fingers curled, anxiety bubbling in scarlet bubbles inside her stomach. And then, a prompt response popped up in the chat shared with that other number.

Of course I can go.

I'll be there soon, Wands .

She took a long, deep gulp of oxygen that rushed in and inflated her lungs in a refreshing release, excarcerating it right away. The muscles in both her shoulders softened into the red hooded jacket she wore – there would be no more loneliness to swallow or tears to shed. Soon you would be there for her. And it only took an interval of fifteen minutes for Wanda to open inwards the door that Pietro had closed behind him twenty-five minutes before, with a hard movement of her right elbow taut against her ribs.

That was how her gaze moved in midair so that, in such a way, it clung to your expectant eyes, which intuitively sought her greenish irises as soon as the door was opened to the inside of the apartment – and there you were, you, standing in front of her door, standing in the long, deserted hallway, staring in mutual care at Wanda's grim-faced face; the chiseled arch of her brows, the delicate lines of her button nose, the well-defined arch of her mouth and high cheekbones.

Opening the door at that moment was like opening the way for all loneliness to go away, because then you were there, there for her.

“Hey,” your lips curled into a chaste smile, “Hey, Wands.”

“Thank you.”

And then, desperate, tormented by a ghostly worry, Wanda, speechless from any verbal response to her affable greeting, walked towards you with a long-winded expression on her pretty, lightly made-up, cigarette-scented face, wanting nothing more than her girl in her own arms.

And she cupped both sides of your face between the warm palms of her hands, bringing her lips to you which she padded with her own mouth in a necessary clash, feeling you uplifted against her body, overwhelmed with her own miseries, just trying to feel nothing but you.

Your lips collided then, her hands holding you close, her rings feeling like little cool spots on the skin of your cheeks, such a disparate awareness of Wanda's warm, caring touch. There would be no better touch in the world for you than the one that displayed all the affection you knew Wanda had for you – a symbolic pair of hands on your cheeks, not only to feel you, but also to hold you and worship her. To prove she knew you were there for her like no one else would be.

“Thank you.”

Wanda muttered in a breath of hot air brushing against the pulps of your lips, still feeling the ghost of your warm lips against hers, a delicious tingle running across her tongue, tasting of ecstasy – lids closed, your foreheads touching almost shyly.

“Thank you, Y/n.”

“I'm here now, Wanda. I am here for you.”

Her warm fingers caressed the skin of your cheeks, instilling a placid serenity in her body. Short nails, coated in black nail polish, traced invisible lines across your cheekbones. Wanda reeked of melancholy and fear like the back of Marlboro cigarettes. And she kissed you once more, and then again and again, interspersing the kisses between little whispers of thanks, declarations for the void to hear. She continued until the automatic lights in the hallway went out.

ᗢ

Puddles of fabric were the pieces of clothing abandoned on the bare wooden floor like helpless stray animals. When Wanda looked up, the movement was conducive to her becoming aware of the erratic pattern where one fold of wallpaper stuck to another on the wall in front of her. It was a rather threadbare wallpaper, derived in the most accurate sense of the word from a faded red wine red that had been there before she moved into that apartment. Her orientation perspective was choked and restrained at that point – her fingertips seemed to enjoy the feel of warm flesh pressed against them, soft and firm at the same time.

Even though her vision was clouded, splattered on her lepidopterous eyelashes by drowsy droplets of a soft intoxication, she saw herself, as if able to smile to herself, lightheaded, her eyes dark green like moss – she was high because you had smoked a joint together some time ago, on the balcony (your elbows brushing and she looking at your glow under the starry sky, because no star would shine brighter than the twinkle inside your irises when Wanda looked at you, hiding the world around you two behind a foggy layer of smoke).

A thick bead of sweat formed above her temple, in her dark hairline, pouring down the length of her pale face until it dripped from her chin, just past the sharp bulge of her left cheekbone. A drop that landed on the arched back below her.

“F–fuck, daddy! Daddy!”

A high-pitched sound vibrated through the room's four red walls—the crack of a slap delivered against your skin, a smack that Wanda made sure to mark on your bottom in euphoric readiness, her fingers in pink welts on your skin, because something in her always delighted to press the bruises with which she bestowed you, ever making your flesh her possession. She loved to mark you, to make your body her perfect picture, the masterpiece of those hands that yearned for her warm skin.

“You're a fucking bitch,” she snorted in a hint of a harsh accent, “My bitch. My favorite bitch.”

“Daddy's favorite,” you repeated in a voice choked with weed and pleasure, and an electric shiver runs down Wanda's spine.

The shudder cost her a break in her rhythm and roughness and rhythm, that long scarlet silicone strap sliding to reach inside the wet folds of your pussy, but you didn't realize it, not how she did it – after all, your face plunged into the pillowcase that emanated the sweet aroma of Wanda's shampoo, the folds of your fingers hooking on the sheets that reeked of her woody perfume, as if submerging in a red mist that she referred to so much, you wouldn't have noticed that her hips wobbled once.

It was like being swallowed by her everywhere, and so you screamed, howled like a bitch in heat – and Wanda appreciated how loud you could be. Claiming her name, how good she, only she, was able to make you feel, and that you were close. Definitely close. In muffled pleas begging daddy to go faster and stronger, deeper and harder towards your womb – and behind the strap she felt her own clit every time the tip of the toy thrust into your cervix.

An indecency was arranged in your closed eyelashes when Wanda looked at you from behind, both of you being without any clothing to cover the length of your bodies as you were, as naked as the day you were born as she fucked you from behind. And at that moment, a welcoming warmth radiated from your broad-shouldered body, and for Wanda, it was like seeing herself integrated into a puddle of torrid sunlight, fulfilling her need to have you close; her arms wrapped around you from behind, her bare breasts pressed against the pale skin of your back, her feeling you there, belonging to her, moving with her.

“Daddy– please! Please wanna cum– I wanna–”

Entranced in a flash of wild desire, feeling Wanda's deft hand move across the skin of your abdomen, being smoothed by the eager digits of her left hand's clever fingers wandering southward down your body, into your tasteless hips, your mouth throbbed lewdly.

“Daddy!”

Her face was hidden in the contour of your neck, in the shoulder joint sprinkled with sloppy bruises, so that Wanda would be able to nibble, from there, a fresh patch of warm skin, easing the burning and tingling that came from the act with the tip of her tongue; her greedy nose tangled in a few profuse locks of your sweaty hair.

Your throat flexed, spilling out a breathy needy moan that pulsed against the line of your teeth. In sync your bodies moved on top of the mattress of her bed, back and forth.

“I wanna come on you,” she gasped, “I wanna mark you as mine. I'll paint your fucking womb white with my load, baby. I’ll break you until no one can use you but me. You're my fuck hole – mine, mine, and nobody else's.”

“Y– yours! I’m yours, daddy, yours!” But there was a hitch in your speech, words squeezing into your throat when Wanda's five right fingers closed against the outline of your neck, screwing into your skin like a thick rope. Saliva seeped from the corner of your lips, down into your chin.

 The roar that bloomed through a crack in her lips had been a husky murmur. As her right hand was busy squeezing your neck, her left was busy plucking the pulsing nerve between your legs—so needy, an urgency growing in your bones and flesh, yearning for the ardor of her figure. Wanda, who unfolded to you with such care and mastery, her inhuman touch burning over your skin.

Her fingertips brushed your fine wet, rough pubic hair, and Wanda took a deep breath, her chest rising heavily and falling lightly, snorting a breath of warm air against the hollow of your ear—the scorching skin of her torso girding itself against your spine, who saw yourself as being able to feel the two swollen nipples pressed against your stinging shoulder blades, her thick her cock still straining your insides in a continuous, harsh back-and-forth.

“Fuck,” her tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth, followed by a curse in her native language, “You are mine, Y/n, you’ll always be mine. Mine. No one else is going to have you but me, fuck, I– I'll make sure of it, I, I'll come on you. I'm going to stuff you so everyone knows you're my bitch walking around with my cum leaking out of you.”

Your ecstasy compelled you to choke on a groan coiled in your throat, and at Wanda's speech you rolled your hips back, fucking yourself in her cock, begging for more, as debilitating when against something as simple as a touch, a simple touch of ethereal fingers, despite the strap that widened you from the inside. Wanda was the only one capable of tearing your brittle body to pieces if she wanted to, and even the vaguest idea made her blood boil in her veins.

“W-Wanna cum,” was a moan from you, your brows meeting furrowed across your peach flushed face; you sounded a little dizzy in your rambling speech, pressing your fingers against the sheet.

“Wanna cum around daddy's cock, wanna–”

“Fuck, I'm gonna come inside your greedy little cunt, gonna– fuck, Y/n!”

Before her you came in a rush of nasal groaning – harsh and confused. Screaming for Wanda, pressing your ass against her hips, shaking. But she buried herself back in you one or two more times before she did it on her own – your walls quivering and tight, familiar and pleasant enough before Wanda plunged her orgasm inside you. And in such a way that she did it, as if just being inside you was what was needed to untie the knot at her primordial apex, then a hand below her navel.

“I'm fucking coming inside you!”

She couldn't actually do it, not the way she really wanted to, but it was enough to feel that familiar tightening in the pit of her stomach when she was there, in that position, that characteristic sting of orgasm digging in her belly. Wanda withdrew from you, your glittering liquid glistening around the strap that the dark harness fastened to her waist, and, with her head seeming to weigh more than the rest of her body, Wanda toppled forward, landing on the slats bed next to you panting, in which the chest rose and fell with an impressive weight.

“Fuck… fuck.”

Her lids squint over the heavy gaze, the world dimming for a second, awareness slipping away. Eyes closed, the room immersed in a puddle of accentuated silence. Then a minute passed. And two and three. There was a click of the spark wheel of a lighter rolling against the stone, gas coming out and paper burning. Wanda's nostrils were filled with a hissing odor of burning grass, smoke reaching her. Her eyelids fluttered open.

With your spine leaning against the wallpaper behind the bed, you, sitting there, were lost in the red – the remnants of the summit ascended in a moment of pleasure smeared the inner sides of your thighs, like a ghost of what was once the climax of the carnal act in which they were so vividly engaged. Swallowing a lit joint between your fingers, Wanda never found you as beautiful as she did at that moment, high and fucked, light for the orgasm and the weed.

“You… are really mine, aren't you?” she asked in a grim voice thread, that accent rolling between the words she alluded to.

You looked at her, “Of course I'm yours. Just as you are mine, silly.”

She just looked at you, silent as she could be.

“Give me a hit,” one hand reached out, reaching for what you held. To disconnect from the world and just feel you.

But, holding the rolled cigarette between the extension of your fingers, Wanda realized that an idea took place behind your empty eyes. You then pressed the commission of your lips around the joint, inhaling that dense smoke to the core of your lungs before, then, reclining your face in front of Wanda, who was still lying down.

The ends of your hair grazed her left nipple as your wet lips met, and you let the smoke trapped in your lungs slip into her open mouth before finally kissing her, her tongue slipping between your teeth, her left fingers tangling in the hair above the nape of your neck, holding you close. When you broke apart, Wanda blinked in ecstasy – your noses were almost touching again.

“You're not going to leave me, are you?” was a sigh against your lips, “You won't abandon me, Y/n.”

“I won't,” you smiled, “Because I love you, Wands. I love you. You know I'll always come when you call.”

And then Wanda looked at you. She looked at you as if it were the first time she had seen you in her life – as if she were discovering you again, understanding you once more, realizing that with you there was no loneliness. In the same way she did every time you surprised her. Wanda understood that as long as she had you, you to indulge her, you to love her, there would be no homesickness left to feel.

“I love you too,” she whispered, “I love you too, Y/n.”

She knew she loved you, in that moment, because she didn't belong in New York or Sokovia - in that moment, she just belonged in your arms.

[katyspersonal]

I had a fun dream regarding the Elden Ring DLC!!! In fact, it was a DLC for the DLC. Apparently it was my brain's spin on "how it could have gone differently", centered around at least 3 different endings (?) that I got to try! It was hard to say whether I was playing or actually being the main character and experiencing all this (best type of videogame-based dreams!)

The focal point was Divine Gate being destroyed and Miquella being spat back out, in his accursed child body again and the "plot" started when we returned some things/feelings to him to make him active. The amount of dialogue he'd provide depended on the amount of Crosses we visited, and before returning them he was completely limp. In either case he was labeled on the map as 'Heartbroken Miquella' or something. There was one 'default', ending that needed passivity sort of. There were plenty of quests and things to do still that were required for the plot, but provided you didn't do anything "special" it ended up in Miquella basically building a Noah Arc very quickly. Yes, because some unknown force triggered the great flooding that was coming. It would basically destroy the world Greater Will and Fingers created so far, and yet let it be made anew. The good side of it was, that since Death is connected with water in Elden Ring world (souls of those that didn't die properly assume Jellyfish form, Godwyn became a sea creature, Tibia Mariners) a LOT of people were coming back with the water but in pure form. Children of the Stars without their rotten flesh and all. This ending felt bittersweet though; having done so much to 'uproot' the fundamentally wrong things Two Fingers melded into this world, he still could not find the courage to let his friends die yet there was no time to separate their bodies from flesh like Ranni and victims of Astrologers' experiments... Effectively, preserving """filth""" into new world and saving what he could save.

The second ending somehow stopped the flood by effect, granting it protection of his gentle pale yellow light (not to be confused with the oppressive gold of the Erdtree!). Protection from any Outer God and from corruption and rotting from within. That however would result in people like Malenia, Godwyn (Prince of Death), Romina etc getting sealed into yellow crystals for the 'next 1000 years' so they could not corrupt the world but alas they could not be healed still. This ending was centered on Miquella comprehending that no, Radahn wasn't "corrupted by sinful world" into becoming a warmonger compared to younger self but war WAS his nature. And for many people, alas their nature was 'necessary evil' without which the world would be a hollow place. So he accepted he could not "save" some people because that'd not be them anymore. However, he could still let the world rest in Heaven by putting it in preservation for a long time. Not cleaning, just preserving from evil, external or internal. And how this secret ending was achieved? ......by marrying Miquella, which included a large variety of activities in order to distract Leda, avoid Leda, lead him away before Leda appears, sending more friends to talk to Leda, having Dane and Leda shipped (lol okay??) etc hfhygxjjh Because if you messed up this part, she'd not let you close enough to Miquella and you'd be set back to flood ending XD

Third ending had to do with the darkness!! It was a secret one, where you would seek rifts Messmer left along the way where he used Base Serpent powers too much. The rifts were patched out by the earth itself, but you had to reopen them like wounds. Reverse Crosses collecting! Because.. if they all were opened, you could access the Lightless Abyss that Base Serpent came from and force it into the world! It would extinguish any and all light of this world leaving only blue star-affiliated one. A bit like Ranni's ending but EVIL!! Creatures of golden light would get striped from it though (Queelign copes and seethes lol). It ensured a lot of horrors being unleashed though and consuming every "weak" person. Tarnished, Albinaurics and other lightness were remotely safe, but those born of gold and under Ring and relying on it were FUCKED. Especially Marika's family. They'd remain defenseless and be the first to get swallowed, so from now on they'd need protection. And whereas blue stars remained the age would be darkness swallowing all of them until only one remained. I as a "player" knew it'd explode to bring the light again.. but other characters didn't.

.....yet when I wanted to try this unleashed Abyss ending, Miquella himself stopped me by stabbing me with Bewitching Branch (not swinging it, specifically stabbing) and I woke up from very intense feeling of love and yearning for him lol fgfggh The last thing I remember how scared he was that he barely stopped... all that. But I just suddenly found him the most appealing person in the world, as if I never loved anyone else. I can't even describe how it felt. It was like.. every cell of my body suffering and only his touch could cure this torment. I had to lay down about 20 minutes to finally calm down gjfggd I am actually embarrassed by it, especially since intrusive thoughts followed, but also I guess it wasn't my fault? Very weird type of alarm clock though 💔

[kismetconstellations]

I found this Reddit thread, the other day, and got a good chuckle out of this particular response:

And, while Shiro having this sort of raw, incontestable, and unmatched power makes him a True Underappreciated Icon, it also stands as the loudest, most glaring testament to the Voltron: Legendary Defender showrunners not knowing what they were doing.

Basic Writing 101 would suggest that, if you intend to kill an important character off, you don't not only open your series on them, but continue to spotlight them as completely intrinsic to, and inextricable from your still ongoing narrative.

Obi-Wan Kenobi's death impacts Luke Skywalker, but doesn't cause the entire story of the original Star Wars trilogy to fall apart.

When Gandalf appears to die in The Fellowship of the Ring, his absence is felt, and impossible to ignore, but the journey of the other main characters continues, nevertheless, and his revival in The Two Towers only aids the narrative's progression, rather than derailing it.

This is due both to Obi-Wan Kenobi and Gandalf not being the central characters of these stories, and George Lucas and J.R.R. Tolkien knowing exactly what stories they intended to tell. And, not just competently tell them, but tell them in ways that have touched and continue to inspire generations of storytellers and story-enjoyers, alike.

The crew behind Voltron: Legendary Defender, however, seemed to have no idea what story they were trying to tell, to begin with, let alone how to tell it.

On its surface, this is a mecha cartoon series about four teenagers and one adult from Earth who find themselves jetted into space to, under the guidance of an alien princess and her quirky advisor, pilot giant robot lions that combine into an even bigger humanoid robot, and fight to free the universe from the tyranny of an evil alien empire. It's packaged as an ensemble show, in the vein of Teen Titans, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Power Rangers, Justice League, most X-Men cartoon series, and so on. Thus, it can be presumed that no one character on the team is more important than any of the others.

While an attempt is, indeed, made to give each of the seven members of Team Voltron their own internal and external conflicts and days in the sun (with the exception of poor Coran, who exists primarily for comic relief, and viewers are scarcely given insight into anything beyond his quirky anecdotes, eccentric mannerisms, and fear of losing Allura), Shiro is overwhelmingly given the most emotional pathos and narrative significance.

The series opens on his abduction and imprisonment.

His escape from Zarkon's ship and recapture by the Galaxy Garrison is the impetus that launches the plot, and brings the five pilots of Voltron together.

He's specifically singled out as the de facto leader of Voltron, and given the most significant role of Paladin of its largest lion, and decisive head.

He has personal ties to all three of the major villains of the first two seasons as a direct victim of their cruelty, and as the series continues, this remains a trait exclusive to Shiro, and Shiro alone.

Sendak is Shiro's personal tormentor, something implied as early as the pilot,

and that continues to be emphasized in Sendak's subsequent appearances.

Haggar was responsible for the experiments conducted on Shiro that lead to the amputation of his right arm and its replacement with a weapon, and feels a sense of entitlement to Shiro's body.

It was Zarkon's ship that Shiro was held prisoner on after losing his crew, Zarkon was the previous Black Paladin, and Zarkon's persisting connection to the Black Lion is a conflict that Shiro ultimately elects to resolve on his own, even if it means a hand-to-hand fight to the death.

There are several episodes (Across The Universe, Space Mall) where the younger Paladins, Allura, and Coran are engaged in comedic shenanigans while Shiro is fighting for his life in explicitly high stakes situations.

Shiro's leadership, compassion, selflessness, and heroism are illustrated over and over again for Shiro's sake, and to it drive home for the audience just how incontrovertibly vital he is in the fight to overthrow Zarkon, and restore peace and liberty to the universe.

"Why are you helping me?"

"As a fighter, and a leader, you give hope."

Instead of writing Shiro as one component of a larger story, making his removal from it possible in the right hands, he was written as the heart of that story. Which rendered excising him from it an exercise in futility, as he is integral to every poignant narrative beat. I.E., his bond with Pidge/Katie being one of the major reasons she chooses to stay with the team instead of venturing out on her own to look for her father and brother.

Shiro is, in essence, Voltron: Legendary Defender's equivalent of Leonardo from the 2003 Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles series--The emotionally beleaguered, self-sacrificing and scarred (as of the end of the third season and entirety of the fourth, in Leonardo's case) leader, who is by far, the most skilled and experienced fighter, and spiritually advanced member of the team.

Leonardo, too, had personal connections to several of his series's most powerful and imposing recurring villains, with two of them (Karai and the Daimyo's son) hellbent on destroying him, specifically.

There are instances (The Shredder Strikes Back Part 1, and the episodes covering the Battle Nexus Tournament) where Leonardo faces higher stakes in juxtaposition to his brothers' lighter-hearted, more comedic exploits, and he underwent the most intensive character arc; battling feelings of anger, guilt, self-loathing, and PTSD before finally achieving inner piece and returning to his family as a more mature, composed, and even greater leader than he was, before.

What the staff behind Voltron: Legendary Defender effectively did is kill their show's Leonardo and replace him with Raphael (Keith). Then, aggressively backtrack on that decision by bringing in a clone of Leonardo who much, much (roughly four seasons) later turns out to have been an infiltrator created by a character with direct relation (Karai/Haggar) to the Turtles and Splinter's greatest enemy (Shredder/Zarkon) brainwashed to attempt to kill the real Leonardo's loved ones. Only for the clone to be taken out of commission during an emotionally-charged confrontation with Raphael, after which his consciousness is overwritten as the Real Leonardo's lifeforce is magically transferred into his body... Just so the newly resurrected and sorely missed Real Leonardo can mostly stand silently around, be disrespected, and do nothing of significance for the rest of the show.

Anyone with any knowledge of the Ninja Turtles franchise, this particular iteration of it, decent storytelling, or even a lick of common sense would tell you that this move is ill-advised, at best, and a terrible idea destined to crash and burn, at worst. But, these showrunners were, evidently, oblivious to their own poor decision-making and ineptitude, and chose to rip out the stitch that held their messily woven tapestry together, causing it to irreparably unravel right in front of their and their audience's eyes.

And, blaming Shiro for that blind incompetence is exactly like blaming that deliberately torn stitch.

[leesmustardgarden]

Meet-cute Through a Window (Though it Shouldn’t be Possible)

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence, mentions of plague, a bit of swearing (couldn’t help myself, really), good ol puppet fear, I love P so much he’s so everything to me

P x (gn) reader

In the ruins of an ever rotting city, love is the last thing you’d expect to find. Rubble cannot foster the gentleness love necessitates, nor can it pretend to. In the ticking heart of a special puppet, filled with oil and ergo ever pulsing, love finds a way to fester. Pinocchio proves to be an exception to many things, and in loving you he has become an exception to the very notion that love cannot find purchase on the ledge of a burning society.

You meet through a window tucked away in the far corners of Krat, one you’d thought to be hidden from the puppet frenzy. It had been your honest mistake; a moment of forgetfulness wherein you peaked through the curtains and found yourself under his curious blue eyes. Crystalline and shining, they shocked you frozen to the spot. Any initial noise you might have let out dies with a weak flutter in your throat and you beg internally for this person to be a person and not a puppet.

A small whirr fills the air in the next second and your heart drops into your stomach. His expression is unchanging even in the face of your panic, but his shoulders sag (—holy shit is that a sword on his back?) in something like surrender and he tilts his head.

If you didn’t know any better, he might have just looked like a curious, yet apathetic boy peering at you through your window. With the sword on his back and the gentle whirr that rings in the silence, it’s hard not to know better. Never mind whatever the fuck is on his metal arm, you’re just ignoring that for the time being or you’re sure to go mental.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” He whispers at the same time you say, “Please don’t kill me.”

If he’s surprised or hurt by what you say, he doesn’t (or probably can’t) show it. The words are muffled through the glass, but you’ve trained your ears to hear through the small opening at the bottom. He holds both palms open and says nothing else.

You… want to trust him, really. More than just the fact that his eyes are so pretty they shine like a fantastic lake straight out of a story book; or that his freckles paint him like an old, long dead painter might have painted the stars. You want to trust him in the open and gentle way he seems to offer up his hands and promise you more than what the rest of Krat has since the frenzy.

In the rubble of a burning city crashing in on itself, there is not a speck of gentleness to be spared. This— puppet has it in spades, and it draws you out of your panic just enough to pull the window open bit by bit. You do not break his gaze for a moment as you tug it up and open, and he is patient enough not to be the first to do so. Instead, he stretches a hand out to you and waits for your warm skin to meet the cold smooth synthetic surface of his own non-legion hand.

It would be just your luck if somehow puppets learned how to lie, too, but something tells you he means it wholly and honestly when he insists he will not hurt you. The whirring picks up gently, almost imperceptibly quicker, but you don’t pay it any mind. The edges of your instincts are sharp with distrust, but you lay your hand and life in the hands of this puppet and find yourself minding it less and less with each second.

A loaded pause passes— you stare down at your hands barely touching and he watches you with that same, frozen expression. You thickly swallow before you wrap your fingers around his hand and look up right into those beautiful blues.

“Would you… like to come in?”

Now, you don’t have much experience in how to fuel (feed?) an automaton; wasn’t your job before the frenzy and certainly hasn’t become since, but you could learn. It’s a silly thought to have, but you haven’t had a guest in god knows how long and a sharing a cup of tea sounds lovely (if puppets could even have tea). And — sure, maybe openly inviting the literal enemy of every human being in Krat into your house isn’t the smartest thing to do, but you can’t help it. More than just his pretty face, his gentle hand caresses yours so softly and the nod he gives is so warm that in the loneliness of having been the last sentient thing in the area, you couldn’t help but falter.

The world around you tastes of ash and rubble, but you meet someone who seems to bring about a breath of fresh air. His eyes are bright like ergo, and his hair fluffs like a black cloud. When he nods ever softly, something whirrs and clicks in the air. Your heart pounds against your ribs, and you don’t know if it’s really out of fear anymore.

Your world ended in a frenzied flurry of plague and massacre; it started again when you peaked through your window and met him.

[disturbnot]

——— VERSES

main / pkmn — if you think you don't know him, you've probably seen him somewhere without realising it. he's your champion! he's your chosen one. he's your saint and saviour. or is he really the reason the world around you is shivering apart, little bit by little bit? he couldn't tell you as a child, and he still couldn't tell you now. this beleaguered old legend still ambles from lead to lead on his path to some kind of ultimate understanding, some kind of zenith to his messianic condition. he doesn't know what he's for, but that's okay, he knows you don't know what you're for either. the learning curve never ends. this ash can be encountered almost anywhere in the pokémon world, known to regularly drift from region to region, gig to gig, battle to battle, apocalypse to apocalypse. surely, one day, this curse will lift ... won't it?

supernatural — ash is a drifting, wayward hunter from the south-west, son of a hunter and a restaurant owner. his father passed when he was young, and during the same incident, ash became the willing vessel of the god quetzalcoatl, granting him vast power and a unique kinship with the natural world. he seeks vengeance for his father, but has become cognizant of the primordial gods' schemes and also seeks to confront and punish them.

the boys — think pokémon if they were just v'd up animals - that's it. ash grew up in a suburbian town in japan, near the site of a vought international r&d lab headed by his best friend's grandfather, and found out a little more than he should have as a young child. during an intrepid peek into oak's research lab, ash not only received a hefty dose of compound v, but managed to free one of the animals the lab had been experimenting on; a large, semi-sentient mouse with the power to conduct and discharge electricity. this event forced ash's mother (also being targeted by the yakuza for business protection) to take him away on the run. he and his mother have been weaving in and out of encroaching threats from vought and other bodies of organised crime ever since. ash seeks vengeance upon vought, both for his accidental exposure to v, and for the disappearance of his father (who may have been an unfortunate test subject in the 90s). ash has gained powers from v that seem to amplify with time and training. the simplest way to explain him would be if goku swapped out the disciplined martial arts training for slugging whiskey and throwing caution to the wind.

star trek — half-human, half-klingon, all golden retriever energy. this gung-ho starfleet prospect has never passed an exam, but exceeds in idealism, imagination, and practical xenozoology. all he's ever wanted is to see the stars and to see all of the fantastical creatures roaming out there in space ... sadly, his exam results never quite etched that fate into the stars for him. working the bars of various low-tier starships will have to do.

modern / fandomless — maybe you saw him on your tv in the early 2000s, one of the many pro wrestlers that lit the world on fire during the height of the craze. it's a pity that impassable injury cut his tenure in the ring all too short. this retired fighting performer has relegated himself to a steady but uneventful life helping his beloved mother run her snack bar, wishing that he'd taken up a career in animal care.

cowboy / western — nobody can really give you an exact date of when ash rolled into town, or when his local ranch practically bloomed out of the arid ground, but it seems like he's been there since anyone can remember. he's never done any harm, he's a kind and hardy man, known mainly to mind his business and ranch his prized cattle. rumour has it though, his ranch house is simply teeming with animal life; from his herding dogs, to his ratting cats, to his hunting birds. some say there are creatures in that home that man has never seen before, but hey, that's just a local rumour spun by bored tavern-wives... right?

new verses to be added! (rgg, monster hunter, and star wars verses coming soon)

[thevibraniumveterans]

STAR WARS — The Acolyte

EP 8 — The Acolyte

MAIN THOUGHTS:

I loved this episode, because it leaves us with several more questions, in addition to the ones that have yet to be answered, and also because it results in almost a role reversal for Mae and Osha.

In Episode 5, the Stranger had said to Sol, “I’ve accepted my darkness, what have you done with yours?” Seems like in this episode, Sol has accepted his darkness and his failure.

There are a few familiar lines thrown in for good measure too.

Also, something about killing a Jedi without a weapon? Yeaaaah, about that… Somehow that’s always stuck with me, even though it’s not all that important of a line. Turns out it was pretty important this episode.

And that lightsaber scene? The one that stole this whole episode? You know the one; I thought it was by far the best on-screen visual example of a kyber crystal, and as a result the blade, responding to the owner’s emotions.

Spoilers in my thoughts in my notes below.

- We begin by hearing Osha calming her breathing, just like she did when it left off last episode. From the outside it sounds like pseudo-mechanical breathing, but not on the inside. The Stranger watches from a few feet away, but suddenly Osha gasps, as if something is choking her. She struggles to breathe. The Stranger, meanwhile, seems to worry, striding toward her with an outstretched arm. A second after his hand is inches away from the helmet, however, he experiences darkness around him, and he momentarily internally panics but tries to suppress it. What could be the source of this darkness he is experiencing?

- From the outside, we see that his eyes go dark, much like Torbin’s did last episode. Something is influencing him, but we’re not sure what. In his ‘experience’, the Stranger’s emotions flash across his face in rapid waves. We don’t know what he’s seeing. Osha, on the other hand, is still struggling for air, taking short and sharp breaths. The Stranger struggles to lift his other arm, and at last, removes the helmet from Osha’s head. She gasps for air, the feeling of drowning slowly escaping her. She shudders; what has she seen? She says she’s seen her sister, and that in her vision, Mae “had her hand outstretched” and that “she was killing Sol”. This visibly shakes Osha because she still considers Sol a good friend. After a short while, Osha says she still wants to stop Mae, but the Stranger notes that only he has the ship.

- Planetside Brendok, Mae and Sol are onboard the Jedi ship, and in orbit. Mae is still bound to the bed, and Sol says Master Vern will intercept him later. All these years later and Sol wants to prove that there is a Vergence on Brendok, but Mae still does not believe that her mother’s murder was justified. That’s a fair response; how else would one feel to talk to someone who killed their mom?

- We see, as was already obvious, two very different points of view. Sol maintains that the covens’ death was an “accident”, but Mae is adamant that in her eyes, the Jedi “invaded” her home and so she had to lock everyone in, irregardless of her setting Osha’s book on fire in the first place. While they argue, Mae uses Pip to pick the lock on her wrist binder to free herself. Sol says that the Jedi were right to intervene, but then tells Mae that she and Osha “are not twins. You’re not even sisters.”

- That’s when Mae’s restraints pop open, and she briefly shocks Sol, then bolts. Sol chases after her, but Mae makes it to an escape ship, and closes the door just as Sol reaches the ship. It’s too late for him; Mae takes the pilot’s seat, and flies off.

- TITLE CARD!!

- Sol reaches the pilot’s bay in his main ship and can only watch Mae fly off. He takes off after her. She chooses evasive maneuvers and flies straight into an orbiting asteroid ring. (Classic Star Wars moves.) No matter; he follows from above, but chooses to fly in after her, and pops up his rangefinder.

- The tracker creature pulls a few wires, sending alarms blaring. Sol’s ship veers out of balance, sending Mae’s escape ship also careening away. She manages to get her ship down to the ground, but it’s a rough landing, thankfully.

- Back on Coruscant, Vernestra meets with Rayencourt. This is internal Senate-Jedi politics, and Rayencourt doesn’t seem to like that Vernestra is keeping some things secret to the Jedi alone. Rayencourt tries to prod for answers, but Vern only reveals little. Rayencourt states point blank, “I think the Jedi are a massive system of unchecked power, posing as a religion, a delusional cult that claims to control the uncontrollable.” From an outside perspective, he’s absolutely right. It’s why Yoda, a hundred years from now, will say he failed; it’s why Luke, more than 100 years later, will say the Jedi are a failed system. It’s an easy thing to say when Jedi essentially kidnap children and train them to be soldiers under the guise of being so-called keepers of the peace. Rayencourt’s view of the Jedi is the same statement that many want to make but is also one that underpins the Prequels, so much so that it’s easy to see why they failed to stop Palpatine from rising to power. They were blinded by their own power, and could not see darkness from within their own ranks.

- Rayencourt continues, “You project an image of goodness and restraint, but it’s only a matter of time before one of you snaps.” He’s also absolutely correct in this regard; we saw what happened to Anakin, we saw what became of Ben Solo, we saw the man Luke became. They snapped, all in their own way. Rayencourt, with great if not unforeseen foresight, goes on: “And when, not “if”, that happens, who will be strong enough to stop him?” Vernestra takes all this in stoically, and shows him the door. He leaves, but not without a “May the Force be with you” valediction, but this time it sounds like an intended and well-placed insult.

- On the unknown planet, Osha and the Stranger head for his ship. He’s the curious one now, not knowing the destination. Osha, on the other hand, knows what she’s doing, and effectively holds his ship hostage by saying, “We do together or we don’t go at all.” Osha is decked in an athletic and hooded dress-like outfit; it is dark grey. The Stranger asks Osha if she ever considered being trained, but she refuses. The Stranger thinks that’s fair.

- We see the ship leave, but when the camera cuts back to the shadows of the hideout, one of the scarred witches appears from behind a wall, dark and ominous.

- On Brendok. Sol’s ship is stationed outside the fortress, much like he had done 16 years ago. He sets out alone.

- On Coruscant, Vern speaks over the comms to a person unknown to us. It sounds like this person had disguised their voice, deliberately. Vernestra is informed that Sol has been located; she wants to resolve something.

- Near Brendok, the Stranger’s ship approaches. Osha is in the pilot’s seat; why would she not be? The ship’s odd design means the Stranger is in a twin but separate cockpit. He makes a comment, but she shuts down his systems on his side to prevent him doing anything funny. She leaves on the comms to add insult to injury. She notices that Sol and/or Mae are already at the fortress.

- On the ground, Sol makes his way to the fortress, and hears, and sees, the approaching ship. He decides to ignore it for now, and encircles the fortress to find a way in. He does, and walks into the overgrown courtyard he hadn’t stepped foot in in over a decade. The place does not hold good memories; regardless, he calls for Mae, thinking that she would have made her way to her fortress home as well.

- Outside, Osha and the Stranger arrive at the fortress. She notes that the old elevator is the only way in, but then, hears the Stranger’s voice become an echo, asking her, “Are you sure?” She looks around; where has he gone? People don’t just vanish like that; not when they’re within arm’s length distance from you. As she stands there, confused, Sol makes his way through the fortress ruins. He arrives at the exact same point he had stood all those years ago when he made that fatal decision. He backs up and walks away, and just as his figure disappears from sight, Mae’s hand shoots up from beneath the floor, and she heaves herself up to the platform.

- Mae finds herself in her old bedroom, the same bedroom she had locked Osha in all those years ago to prevent her from leaving. It looks like she feels uneasy. Outside, Osha fiddles with the elevator controls, and opens the rusty doors.

- Sol makes his way through a hallway and calls Mae’s name, but is accosted by the helmeted Stranger. They face down; what is Star Wars without a good hallway saber duel? The Stranger backs Sol through a series of hallways, and they hover themselves down to the plaza. Sol says, “I will destroy you if I must”, to which the Stranger warns, “Not if she gets to you first.” The Stranger disconnects his saber, choosing to now duel with two blades, a longer one and a shorter one.

- Sol leaps at the Stranger, kicking him backwards, but this doesn’t faze him. The Stranger throws both his lit sabers, hoping to backstab Sol, but Sol sees this coming, and holsters his own sabers, and uses the Force to throw the red sabers off, and the Stranger to the ground. Sol reignites his saber. The Stranger is undaunted.

- Osha, clad in dark grey, finds her sister Mae, in light grey, in their old room. Osha still feels grief and anger over the past, but Mae holds a different view of how things unfolded. Mae tells Osha that Sol has killed Mother Aniseya, and affirms Osha’s negative emotions that Sol could never hope to quell. Mae continues, saying, “You never failed; he did.” With that, the sisters come to blows, engaging in physical unarmed combat. Their movements mirror each other. They both kick high, legs clashing.

- The camera cuts right away to the clashed blades of Sol and the Stranger in the courtyard, their battle evidently not over. The Jedi’s ship arrives.

- In their bedroom, Osha and Mae keep duking it out. Mysteriously, Mae disappears, and Osha looks around the empty room.

- In the courtyard, the battle rages on. In a stunning move, Sol swipes his blade and slices the Stranger’s lightsaber hilt open. The Stranger discards his saber, removes his helmet, and turns to face Sol, whose saber is out and pointing to his neck.

- Mae appears in the courtyard, and hits Sol. In a swift movement, Mae grabs Sol’s lightsaber. The Stranger says, “Strike him down and your journey will be complete.” Mae, however, tosses Sol’s saber aside. Mae refuses, wanting instead for Sol to “confess what he did. I want him to face the High Council. The Senate. The Republic. I want him to pay for his crimes.” Sol still maintains that he “did the right thing”, but how was killing Mother Aniseya the right thing? Nothing can explain that away. He claims that he was trying to protect Osha and Mae from their mother, who might’ve in some way used the Force to create life. Sol says, “In the history of the galaxy, very few have been that powerful.” While he talks and is distracted, the Stranger picks up Sol’s saber. In Mae’s eyes, it still does not justify her mother’s death. Sol is hesitant, but finally admits that yes, he did kill Mother Aniseya. (On a separate note, one of the Stranger’s past last lessons to Mae was to kill a Jedi without a weapon; here and now Mae is weaponless, and had forced Sol, a supposedly respectable Jedi, to distill the Jedi’s order and idea of “protection” down to chaos and “murder” in the name of safety, and in a way, killed the idea of a Jedi, thereby fulfilling the Stranger’s last task.)

- Mae looks up, and sees Osha coming through the doorway. Osha had heard all she needs to hear, but shakily asks Sol, “Is that true?” Sol deflects by telling her he did what he thought was right, that he wanted to tell her the truth “so many times, but I couldn’t”. Osha is in denial; in her hand, she holds Sol’s saber. Turns out, the Stranger had handed it to her.

- Osha does not take this lightly; she Force-chokes Sol, and Mae looks on in concern. The crystal in the saber in Osha’s hand slowly bleeds red, and she closes her fist, killing Sol. He drops to the ground, and Osha sobs, realizing what she has done. Mae is also concerned; Osha had done what Mae could not. The Stranger slowly approaches Osha, who lashes out at him, saber ignited; we see the red from the crystal bleeding into the ignited blade, and within seconds, the blade turns an angry crimson from hilt to tip. Osha inspects the saber, fascinated.

- Elsewhere, Vern’s ship had arrived. With her are a small contingent of Knights. She reaches out, and realizes the Stranger is alive. He notices the Force shift, and puts his helmet on.

- Back in the fortress, Mae cautiously approaches Osha, saying, “We need to leave.” Surprisingly, Osha switches off the saber, and follows her sister. They run through the hallways, and escape down the internal cliff that Mae had earlier climbed up from. They reach a tunnel, and walk through it.

- In the courtyard, Vernestra and the Jedi find Sol’s lifeless body. Vern sends the Jedi to search the premises; the Stranger looks on from behind a hidden pillar as Vern approaches Sol’s body.

- Mae and Osha continue running. Elsewhere not too far away, the Jedi start tracking the sisters, who have arrived at the tree they used to come to as kids.

- Mae tells Osha that this is where she sat and waited; Osha apologizes to Mae, saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.” Mae returns an apology: “I’m sorry I started that fire.” Osha starts crying, and tears appear in Mae’s eyes too. They repeat the same little chant they did as kids.

- The Stranger appears, and takes Sol’s now-red saber. Mae asks her sister, “What do you want, Osha?” What does Osha want to do? Osha tells the Stranger that she will train with him, only if he lets Mae go. Mae warns that the Jedi are using her scent to track the both of them, and the Stranger offers to wipe Mae’s memory in favor of letting Osha do what she wants. Mae willingly agrees, not wanting to risk her sister’s safety. This is not something she is forced to do, she is doing this of her own free will and out of love for her own sister. Osha doesn’t want to lose Mae, not again. Mae assures, “You’re not. You are going to do what you were meant to do. But I won’t stop you this time.” Osha makes a deal with the Stranger, but gives one last farewell hug to Mae. Osha promises to find Mae, who says, “I know you will.” They start their little poem again, and Mae discreetly nods at the Stranger, who proceeds to, with her consent, wipe her memory. Mae can’t even finish her line. By the time the Jedi arrive, only Mae is left standing under the tree, Osha and the Stranger long gone.

- Back on Coruscant, an arrested Mae gets shepherded through the Temple’s halls. At this point, as agreed, she has no memory of her sister and the Stranger. Mae is walked into a room, and sees Vernestra, who orders that Mae’s restraints be removed.

- Vern asks Mae if she knows why she’s here; to Mae she does not know anything, other than being told she’s murdered someone but has no collection of the event. She recounts fragmented memories, about a fire, a man killing her mother, and herself running off.

- Vernestra fills in the gaps for her, telling Mae her last memory is of when she’s 8. Vern affirms that Sol killed Mother Aniseya. Later, she tells the Senate what happened all those years ago. She tells them the truth, though a warped version of it. In this version, she names Sol as the rogue Jedi who “killed his accomplices to maintain the cover story.” When asked where Sol was, Vern says, “I believe he ended his own life.” Which, from a certain point of view, is true, considering he allowed Osha to kill him, accepting his failure and his guilt. Vern tells Mae, “Sol made a mistake. A mistake he lived with for so long it twisted his mind.” (Would Vern be telling a warped version of the story to protect Mae and Osha?) “He justified every selfish step with the live he had for your sister.” Mae does not remember the name Osha.

- Vern continues, “You poor girl. The Jedi have failed you. I am going to make this right. But I need your help.” Mae asks what with, and is informed, “A pupil of mine before he turned to evil.” (Which is more or less the same words Obi-Wan would utter to Luke in ANH.) Mae agrees.

- On the Stranger’s planet, Osha stands, looking out at the waves before her. The Stranger approaches, and lightly takes Osha’s hand, which is holding the saber. Sunset; Master and Apprentice look out at the waves beyond.

- Back on Coruscant, Vern walks into a room, and addresses her Master, who is none other than Yoda.

- The scene closes out. The credits roll.

[nutty1005]

Cover Story: Be True · Be You

Original Article: https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/owy5OKSTQ0GjUAMzBBbpcw Original Author: 嘉人 Marie Claire Translator’s note: The article will be published in the 307th Issue of Marie Clare for January 2024’s start of the year issue.

When I pronounce the word Future, the first syllable already belongs to the past. When I pronounce the word Silence, I destroy it. When I pronounce the word Nothing, I make something no non-being can hold. -- “The Three Oddest Words” by Wisława Szymborska

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Xiao Zhan held up a handheld fan to dry the slightly seeping sweat because of the filming. When the photographer signaled the start, he stepped forward, stepped back, walked forward again, and continued to retreat. The props on his back were like airplanes, his eyes were constantly searching for the camera, like a mischievous child exploring an unknown world. Every cycle back and forth, he was thinking about the more refined possibilities between advancement and retreat.

It’s hard not to notice Xiao Zhan’s sense of propriety. When being interviewed, he had a catchphrase: “Can I say this?” Or, as if to confirm himself, “I can say it like this, right?” He also reflects on himself constantly. For example, he would repeatedly remind himself not to let his performance become habitual. Once he would get used to it, it will develop into terrible inertia. For example, he would often emphasize that he did not like to be mysterious for the sake of it, he might not understand many truths, but he would share only his sincere daily feelings. Another example, when he heard a crew member commenting that he was always “striving for excellence”, he responded that he had not yet reached “excellence” and only wanted to “strive”.

Xiao Zhan spoke slowly and eloquently, he did not have a thunderous and fiery personality. He chatted calmly and had the demeanor of a benevolent gentleman. He was not tense at all as well. He chatted about varied topics and when he got to the point where he was enjoying himself, he naturally leaned back on the chair and gently held his right leg with both hands. The content of the chat ranged from the unchanging emotions contained in the classic songs of the times to artificial intelligence (AI), his views on human beings, as well as his own performances and life experiences.

In 2023, 3 television dramas starring Xiao Zhan broadcasted one after another. He played the colorful and vivid forefather, the lonely and cold crown prince, and the newcomer who struggled in the workplace. Every time he entered a drama group, he would dream, about real scenes and real pressure related to filming. After the dream was over, he would immerse himself into the heart of the character and perform it, leaving vivid memories and feelings.

There is a ruler in the heart and a measurement outside his body. Appropriateness is Xiao Zhan’s internal perspective, an accurate view towards work, life and he himself. Outside of the measurements is Xiao Zhan’s external perspective, the perceptive understanding of the past, time and space, and the world. Within the length of measurements, the heaven and earth appear naturally.

Within the Appropriateness: A truly lovable character will always have imperfections

3 television dramas have been aired and new dramas are being filmed. For actor Xiao Zhan, 2023 is a fruitful year.

Occasionally, when he looked back on his career as an actor, Xiao Zhan would be in a daze for a moment. In the blink of an eye, it seemed like he had been there for a long time. Almost every time when he filmed a drama, he always had a routine: dreaming. He dreamed about memorizing lines, dreamed about going through the scenes with the director, he would even dream about taking a math test, but could not solve any of the questions on the paper, then waking up with a start.

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Xiao Zhan felt that this was caused by pressure, and he accepted it calmly. Perhaps there was another reason, deep down in his heart, he did not regard himself as an experienced actor, but always placed himself in the position of a newcomer, with an attitude of learning and exploration. Therefore, every time he would go to a drama group, he always had the experience of starting all over again.

Xiao Zhan was very wary of becoming habitual. Sometimes he would also advise himself not to give himself so much pressure, not to overthink, and to try to be more relaxed. But once he realized that he had started to rely on performance models, experiences and habits, he would again remind himself that taking things for granted would be dangerous. After a long period of habits, inertia would occur, and inertia would lead to “taking things for granted”. Therefore, every time he would interpret a role, he would always have to gain some freshness.

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Xiao Chunsheng in “Where Dreams Begin / The Youth Memories” was a character full of freshness. Because, there were extremely obvious differences between him and Xiao Zhan himself. Xiao Chunsheng was a youth in Beijing in the 1970s, which was completely different from era and environment in which Xiao Zhan grew up.

Military coats, 28″ wheels bicycles, the ice surface of Shichahai, and the transformation from a youth to a middle-aged entrepreneur, all of these were not familiar to Xiao Zhan. To this day, there were still “traces” of Xiao Chunsheng in Xiao Zhan: when it came to the character Chen Hongjun in the play, he would always say “Hong Jun’er”. Those Beijing accents, the “er” epenthesis, the “aiyoeh” and “whoa” exclamations that he practiced when filming started were all words on Xiao Zhan’s lips.

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The language, objects and period were still alright, but for Xiao Zhan, the biggest difference from Xiao Chunsheng was his personality. He is an introvert who enjoys being alone, while Xiao Chunsheng was the complete opposite, he would make many friends and overly loved to socialize. Based on today’s standards, this extreme enthusiasm often meant a lack of a sense of boundaries. “The times are developing faster and faster. Today’s youths are living a fast-paced life and will not easily cross the boundaries of getting along.” Xiao Zhan commented, “But Xiao Chunsheng is an extremely meddlesome person, so it is easy to offend others.” When he read the script, he was quite intimidated by this role and felt that it would be difficult to act him as a likeable person. But after hesitating for a long time, a thought suddenly caught his attention: perhaps, the qualities we were hesitant about today contained exactly what we need.

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Fresh and vivid, this was Xiao Zhan’s summary of Xiao Chunsheng and his contemporaries. “Hate is hate. Like is like. Don’t you think each of their colors are particularly fresh and vivid?” he asked. Even now, when thinking back to some scenes in “Where Dreams Begin / The Youth Memories”, he still felt that the characters were shining brightly, they were vivid and brilliant.

After playing Xiao Chunsheng, a person who was far away from current values, Xiao Zhan also gained something in terms of mentality: do not be afraid of making mistakes. He said: “A truly lovable character will always have imperfections.” During the filming, he once asked the director if it was particularly annoying for Xiao Chunsheng to worry so much about others. The director told him that it was precisely because of this “annoyance” that he was Xiao Chunsheng, and “annoyance” was his charm.

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The director’s words suddenly enlightened Xiao Zhan, sometimes he would fall into a strange loop, hoping to avoid and correct the imperfections of the character. “When you change it like this, the character himself loses his charm.” Xiao Zhan said, “So I think I should not be afraid when doing homework for the character, if he is enthusiastic then he should be enthusiastic, if he crosses the boundary then he should. If I always have to consider the character’s shortcomings, thinking about what will happen if the audience scolds me, then it will be difficult to act.” Because, actors play characters, not personalities.

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Not being afraid of flaws, to some extent, also meant the courage and ability to seek truth. “Sunshine By My Side” was Xiao Zhan’s first appearance in an urban workplace drama. His reason for taking on this drama was simple: modern dramas are too close to reality and everyone is living it, therefore it is difficult to perform it such that everyone believes it. Because he was not sure and confident, he firmly believed that he would learn something after “gnawing” it down. Thus, the character Sheng Yang came into being.

“Sunshine By My Side” made Xiao Zhan realize that urban dramas relied heavily on the cooperation between actors. Because it was more life-like, every detail would not be set in stone, and the lines and performances would be slightly adjusted. “We are all living people, we do not exist to maintain a persona. What everyone does, says and expresses, the emotions are all natural, reasonable, and flowing. If you change, my performance will also change accordingly.” Xiao Zhan said, this kind of creative coupling eliminates the possibility of actors being rigid and mechanical, hence it is a fresh and fun experience.

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Sheng Yang was a designer, which happened to be the job that Xiao Zhan had done before. With personal experience, flexibility during performance could be guaranteed. “When Sheng Yang wanted to draw the design sketches, I would really draw them there. Sometimes I would tell them, art director, your layers seem to be locked and I can’t move them.” Xiao Zhan recalled, “Because it was my own life, so I was more skilled at it. Can I say that? Alright.” He never forgot his sense of appropriateness even when it came to his true feelings.

Xiao Zhan was no stranger to fantasy themed dramas. “The Longest Promise” was the most recent example. For him, acting in a drama with such an imaginary background requires a process of nothing to fruition. Facing a green screen, if he had to imagine extreme weather or breathtaking scenery, he needed to create it himself. As for whether his condition was realistic and whether the emotion was subtle enough, more often than not, he had to trust the evaluation made by the director behind the monitor.

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Whether it is a ancient costume drama or a contemporary drama, Xiao Zhan always had a clear understanding when facing the script and characters. “At any one time, there are only a few good things, which is why people always say that they could only be discovered and not sought.” He recalled his observations over the years, “Some scripts may be considered good by the industry, but the market feedback may not be so good. What is everyone’s definition of good? Is it good sales or good word-of-mouth? It’s hard to judge.” Therefore, what he could do now is to return to his own understanding and feelings and choose what he thought would be the best roles. As for what role he wanted to play the most, Xiao Zhan said: “I have been mentioning it for many years, an adorable and charming villain, if I get the chance.”

Outside of the Appropriateness: The emotions between people have never changed

When reading the script of “Where Dreams Begin / The Youth Memories”, Xiao Zhan’s mind would be filled with photos of his parents when they were young.

Dad was riding a bicycle and mom was sitting in the back seat, wearing a red skirt and a white shirt. When passing a big rock, my father took a photo of my mother as a souvenir. She smiled brilliantly at the camera, looking like a bright girl. When it was his turn to play the role of his parents in their youth, he tried his best to restore the freshness and even rashness of youth, he did not want to deliberately portray the story in a rigid and stern direction just because it was a story about his parents’ generation.

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Regarding time, Xiao Zhan seemed to have a special sense and understanding. He was sentimental and nostalgic. No matter whether he would be singing in variety shows or event, or listening to them in private, he always had a preference for old songs. They were memorable, rich in meaning, and gave him space to think.

When he was a child, he did not have much pocket money, so Xiao Zhan would either go to the video store to rent CDs, or exchange CDs and tapes with his classmates. He could still remember the prices clearly even now. To this day, he still had the CD player and Walkman he used back then in his home. Sometimes, he would return to wired headphones because they are convenient and easy to find. In the dead of night, he would occasionally think of the things that were gradually fading in the torrent of time. He was alone, with his heart flowing, this was his comfortable state.

Xiao Zhan said that he was a very homely person and when he had spare time at home, he would just work out or watch movies. He never regarded watching movies as a task, any genre, he would watch them all, regardless whether they were popular commercial movies or niche art films. Recently, he watched “Anatomy of a Fall”, which was the best film at the 2023 Cannes International Film Festival.

Around New Year, he would often revisit “Love Actually” and watch it again every two or three years. The reason was also very straightforward, the family, love, and friendship in the movie all conveyed truth, goodness and beauty, which warmed people’s hearts when watching them.

“Don’t you think that the emotions between people have never changed? Old movies will always be unearthed and watched, and old songs will always be repeatedly heard, because the emotions sung by truly classic works remain unchanged throughout the ages. Only sincerity can move people.” Xiao Zhan seemed to have a sudden inspiration and compared it with AI, “I think AI cannot replace humans. Maybe its technology can one day surpass the limits of humans, but that kind of complex emotions, humans far surpass computers. It can be said that humans are the most accurate, mysterious, and complex supercomputers.”

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Xiao Zhan would pay attention to AI, just like how he would pay attention to all new things in the world that are deeply related to people. He watched the news and read things written by AI, the depth of thought and logic of thinking made him feel incredible. Perhaps, in some job competitions, the threat of AI to human beings would already be close at hand, but he still firmly believed that AI could not replace face-to-face communication between people, whether it is immediacy or complexity.

When these distant concerns about new things were temporarily put aside, Xiao Zhan also had his own expectations for the world.

When filming “Ace Troops” a few years ago, in order to portray the image of a soldier who was concerned with the nation, Xiao Zhan observed and trained in the army for more than a week. He got up at five or six in the morning every day and ate and lived with the soldiers. After performing this drama, he felt deeply about the cruelty of war and understood the hard-won peace. “I cherish my current life more, this is the truth.” Xiao Zhan said. Therefore, the current vision for world peace, might also be related to countless people in infinite distances away.

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Regarding his own expectations, Xiao Zhan outlined it more simply: “I have done very well in 2023, I hope I can maintain it.” After thinking for a while, he added: “In 2024, I hope to love myself more, care more about my own feelings and thoughts. This sentence is not only for myself, but also for everyone.”

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In Xiao Zhan’s heart, his person on screen is different from his person in real life. In private, he will not polish himself too much, nor will he dress too glamorously, he just wants to be natural and true to himself.

“Just like the current chat, similar to this comfortable state, just keep to it. I won’t change my face and portray another person.” Xiao Zhan said, “It’s too tiring. Too tiring.” He repeated twice.

A poet wrote, “My heart is slightly larger than the entire universe.” Outside Xiao Zhan’s appropriateness, there is the restraint of “simplicity” and the vastness of “universe”.

[darkmoongodess]

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Pairing: Drew McIntyre x Desiree Simons™️

Warnings: work drama, toxic behavior, unprotected sex, light sub and dom switching, denied orgasam. NSFW, minors dni

a/n: hello beautiful heathens, normies, and Drew fans . I know it’s been quite a while since I updated this story, if you’ve been following me then you’d know I’ve been quite busy lol. There seems to be a one shot in particular y’all liked a lot, it’s in my master list if you’re curious. Buckle up because this chapter finally gets into a bit of drama, and spiciness. Some things in our past do come back to haunt us don’t they? Desiree Simons is my oc check out my pinned post for more on her. Likes and reblogs are highly appreciated, and follow me for more.

Chapter 3: Alley Cat

Wednesday afternoon

Somehow, Shawn roped me into coming down to the PC, and lending a helping hand to some of the younger talent. What I didn't know was that there would be others from the main roster there as well; Sheamus, Xavier, Mercedes, and to my dismay Mandy all stood around chit chatting waiting for the training to start. “Good to see ya kid, how's the old man?” Shawn greeted me with a warm side hug, then patted me on the head, and I was transported to the five year old girl gushing with adoration over The Heartbreak Kid backstage. The only time my dad allowed me to run rampant. I usually gave all the stars hell, whenever it seemed like I was about to get in trouble Shawn, and Hunter would back me up like cool uncles.

“Are you referring to my father…or yourself?” I joked, to which he let out a scoff holding his hand to his heart as if I shot him there. I held my own hand up to my lips feigning shock, but also to hide the grin on my lips, there’s not much you can say to Shawn to hurt his feelings. As we made our way towards the group, I caught the way Mandy looked at us. Envy settled deep within her eyes, I shifted my focus to my friends who sprung up to talk to me. Mercedes all but jumped into my arms, we hung out yesterday, but seeing as I’ve been gone for so long, five hours just simply wasn't long enough.

“Didn’t I just see you yesterday?” I asked playfully, her arm slung around my shoulder, and my arms wrapped loosely around her waist.

She shrugged her shoulders, “And how blessed you must feel to see me twice in one week.” She smiled smugly, I would have replied but Shawn clapped his hands together gathering our attention.

“Alright children, as you know there was a bit of a competition between you all to see who gets to partake in this mini bootcamp. Five NXT stars, and five WWE stars. Even though you all are here to take notes, and study the work from some of the main rosters finest, you’ll be partaking in the action as well. Think of it as a hands-on experience.” Shawn took a breath, as expected we were all hanging on his every word, because duh, it’s freakin’ Shawn Michelas.

“The first round will be our favorite drills.” He paused to let us all groan, and mumble complaints simultaneously. Just when I thought I’ve escaped those dreaded bump drills, I’m somehow brought right back to them years later.

“Oh yeah, that means you big shots as well, our turf, our rules.” He chortled playfully, but quickly got back on topic, he climbed into the ring, we all gathered around the apron giving our undivided attention. He had NXT run their drills first, they were amazing, and agile. They moved smoothly without a hitch, but when it was our turn, main roster, or ‘team retirement home’ Shawn so affectionately called us, I realized I had some work to do. Despite my internal complaints, I got through it fairly easily. Shawn paired us up to do more drills that he didn't think to mention thirty minutes ago, but it wasn't until we had to pair up, and demonstrate a cookie cutter, WWE factory made in ring scenarios, did the drama start.

“Here’s where the note taking part comes in, the main roster will demonstrate a variety of scenarios for you guys. Firstly, everyone’s favorite trope, good guy vs bad guy, and if I could get two volunteers.” Shawn had chuckled at my eagerness, my hand shot up, then I looked around seeing I was the only one. Mercedes snorted, “Try hard.” She mumbled under her breath, she playfully knocked her shoulder into mine.

“Oh good, we got one, Desiree, get in here kid.” I happily skipped over to the middle of the ring where he stood, looking very much like a father with his hands on his hips. He scratched his brow, then scouted the people left, and luckily for me he chose Mercedes. There isn't anyone I’d rather spar with more, she sauntered over to me with a haughty swagger.

“Sasha Banks, Desiree, who wants to be the bad guy?” He asked, looking between the two of us, a bemused expression on his face. I raised my hand, but Mercedes smacked it down.

“You wish you could be a bad guy.” She grinned, I scoffed causing everyone to chuckle, but no one defended me. I folded my arms over my chest, my eyebrows drawn together.

“I could totally be a bad guy, you’re just a bitch by design.” I argued back, I tried to fight the smile threatening to press against my lips. Shawn quietly instigated from the side, everyone else had already stepped out the ring.

“That’s Ms. bad bitch to you.” She quickly rebuttal not missing a beat, sassiness laced heavily in her tone. There was truth in our jokes, and as much as I hated to admit, she could turn on her attitude like a flip of a switch. If someone went low, I was taking it straight to hell, and there wasn’t an inbetween.

“Ha! Well, show us how it’s done ladies.” As soon as Shawn stepped out, Mercedes shoved me on the shoulders, and I was quick to return the favor. Considering we didn’t have any prep time, we’re doing our best to improve, so when she slapped me across the face, I was genuinely shocked. A course of “ohhh” rang from our audience, I grabbed her by the shoulders, and brought her into a tight lock up.

“Bet you’re awake now huh sunshine?” Mercedes taunted me, I tried to push forward and overpower her, but she stomped her foot down stopping me. With all her force she pushed me towards the ropes, and naturally my body relaxed so I could bounce off the top rope with ease. When I came running at her, she grabbed my arms, and Irish whipped me into the other side of the ring. Something, or someone had grabbed my ankle causing me to trip forward but Mercedes caught me before I fell. “Whoa, you okay?” Mercedes paused for a second, and helped me steady myself, I looked over my shoulder. My eyes scanned the onlookers, and while it could have been either one of them, the one who stood out to me the most was Mandy.

I could have sworn there was a flicker of deviousness in her eyes, I blinked and it was gone, and replaced with confusion. I shook my head, “Yea, just lost my footing..sorta. Let’s keep going.” Mercedes' gaze lingered at one me for a moment longer, but locked up with me again, we tousled for a while. We moved through various technical moves, all of which from Mercedes were explosive, and planted me every time. I gave her a good fight, as she went for a third pin I refused to give up, and now she was getting frustrated. This was usually where I excelled, one of the many things AJ Lee taught me was endurance.

“Stay down!” She screamed at me, her foot stomping my shoulder, I grunted then gripping my arm, and rolling away in pain. Mercedes shouted, “Some champion you are!” She taunted, our crowd booed her in response, and when I turned over on my shoulder to see her grinning at me I had to fight back my own smile. I crawled to the corner turnbuckles, and sluggishly hung off the second ropes, using them for support.

“Excellent selling, Desiree, you’re doing great ladies.” Shawn called to us from outside the ring, which only encouraged Mercedes more; she grabbed me by my braids, and pulled me back to the center of the ring. I started to give a bit of a fight back, but she beat me back down with forearms to the face. I laid there slumped as I leaned my back against her chest, my arms at my side. My chest rising and falling as I tried to suck in as much air as I could, and made sure to put on a good show.

She hooked her arm around my neck, roughly locking it in, and placing her hand on top of my head for good measure. I could feel her body weight leaning on me, I held my arms out trying to keep fighting. No matter how hard I tried to break out of her hold, she just wouldn’t give, but then I could hear our little crowd of people start to chant and clap for me. The energy fired me up, and I managed to get onto my knee, Mercedes still clung onto me. With all my strength being in my legs, and thighs I got up to one leg. The crowd started to buzz, as I’m sure none of them expected me to power out of this hold that way. Then I got up on my other leg, I was now squatting with Mercedes on my back, her legs came around my hips. I grabbed her thighs, and held onto her securely.

I stood up on my feet, letting out a warrior's cry, and fell backwards onto the mat, squashing Mercedes underneath me. “Ugh.” She groaned, the crowd cheered, and whistled for me. I went over to the ropes blowing kisses, and dusted off my shoulder feeling cocky. I turned to Mercedes who was struggling to get to her feet, I pulled her up by the shoulders, and hit her with a few punches. I hooked her arm around the back of my neck, then lifted her up vertically, and dropped her onto the mat planting her face first.

“Beautiful Falcon Arrow Des.” Shawn praised me, I rolled Mercedes onto her back, pinning down her shoulders. As Sheamus slapped the mat, and gave us the three count, my lips stretched into a broad, shining smile. I stood to my feet pulling Mercedes up with me, and she brought me into a tight hug.

“Wonderfully done ladies, they played their given roles perfectly. They decided to take a more technical approach to the start, but as a heel don’t be afraid to start things off dirty. Maybe rush your opponent by attacking them in between the ropes as they’ve entered, or even before the bell rings give a little cheap shot.” He paused for a moment to catch his breath, like earlier we hung on his every word, soaking up every bit of information he had to offer. Then, he continued. “The goal of the heel is to win by any means necessary, however Sasha did a great job at telling the story in a more physical aspect. She was rough, asserting her dominance, and manhandled Desiree. Desiree, as the face, did feel defeated at one point, but she let the crowd feed her. Listening to the crowd is very important, they control you, not the other way around. By the way, Des that was a beautiful power out, a wonderful display of power, and showing how the hero can prevail.” Everyone clapped, and slapped hands with Mercedes and I as we went into a quick break. I rolled out of the ring, to quickly jog over to my bag for water. I noticed Mandy a few inches away scrolling on her phone, but I didn’t say anything.

I figured if I just ignored her, she’d eventually leave me alone, but boy was I wrong. “That was a neat little party trick you did at the end there, wonder where you got that from?” Mandy snipped at me, I turned towards her, and she was fully facing me. Her arms folded, lips pursed, and her eyebrow raised. An accusatory expression etched across her tanned face.

I continued sucking down my water for a moment longer, at this point I hoped she just came out with why she had such a hostility towards me so we could get this over with. “What?” I chuckled, but my heart was pounding. The anticipation of the argument is killing me.

“That move you did at the end, I created that, and I’ve been doing it since my indies days.” She explained, but I was still confused. I glanced down at her thighs. I know I wasn’t built like Trinity or Bianca, but I for damn sure could lift more off my thighs than Mandy.

“Crazy of you to assume I watch you that closely, girl I don’t even think about you…like at all.” I switched the weight from one hip to the other, my hands opening and closing. I could feel my face twisting into a grimace, but my tone of voice was cool.

“No, you don’t think about me, but I know Drew still does.” My voice caught in my throat, all I could do was blink, because as much as I wanted to laugh that comment off, something in my gut told me it was at least partially true.

I took a few steps forward getting into her personal space, though her eyelids widened, she didn’t back down. “Your…services are no longer needed. Thanks for keeping the bed warm while I was gone hoe.” I said, smiling all the while, her nostrils flared, but I’m sure this hurt me more than it did her. I refused to show any signs of weakness though, but later, much later I will be crying about this.

“If it happened once, it’ll happen again, Drew seems to be a creature of habit. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” She whirled her finger around in my face, then touched the top of my nose teasingly. That was enough to finally piss me off, I snatched her hand roughly, and twisted her arm up behind her back.

“Hey hey, knock it off!” Shawn shouted, and I usually respect his dad voice, however, I was feeling irate at the moment.

“Try it if you want to bitch, you could never be me.” I growled in her ear, I was angry enough to rip her arm off, but fortunately for us both people were already pulling us apart. Mercedes and Xavier tried to hold onto me, but I squirmed around trying to free myself. Carmelo held onto Mandy.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her face pinched up into an expression of anger, “You bitch! You don’t deserve anything.” Her voice broke, and the tears wouldn’t stop.

“Don’t fucking play with me, I’ll slap the dog shit outta you!” I didn’t give a damn about any of those tears, play stupid games, win stupid prizes, and the next time she tried me I bet she’ll think twice. Mercedes’ grip on my arms tightened refusing to let me go she’s never seen me get this upset before.

“Separate them now, I want Desiree in my office, and Mandy, walk it off.” Shawn pressed his lips together, he stood in between both of us, and watched closely as Mandy was walked out of the Performance Center.

We made the king trudge to Shawn’s office in silence, we I was silent, Xavier and Mercedes were trying to talk to me, but I wouldn’t budge. Finally fed up with being ignored, Mercedes grabbed me by the arm, and turned me to face her.

“Don’t shut us out Dee, you know you can talk to us about anything.” Mercedes grabbed my wrist, her tone tender. My lips parted to speak, but Shawn’s voice over spoke loudly from a few feet away.

“I’ll take it from here guys, Billy’s gonna over take training, and no matter how many times he asks, do not bring up what just happened.” He warned giving the younger stars a stern look, the both of them silently agreeing, and gave me a pat on the back on the way by.

He then turned his attention to me, a disappointed expression etched across his face, he sighed heavily. “Now, what to do with you.” I had no idea what he was thinking, especially with his cowboy hat partially covering his eyes, but I hoped for the best as I stepped to the side to move out of his way. He unlocked the door to his office, and allowed me to walk in first like a gentleman. Then I took a seat in the chair in front of his desk, I took my time to look around the office as I’ve never been in here before. There were of course the obligatory posters of DX on both sides of the room; one poster with just Shawn and Hunter, and the other with the whole gang. By the time I swept the whole room, and came back around to Shawn, his eyes were already on me.

“You know who I’m seeing, looking at you right now?” He asked, I didn’t answer, instead I remained quiet. My heart was ringing in my ears, and now that I’ve calmed down more, I realized how ridiculous it was to pick a fight with Mandy.

“I see seven year old Desiree Simons who just tricked Big Show out of twenty dollars, and is now running to me for help. Because obviously you couldn’t let your old man know what you’ve been up to, though I think now would be a great time to key him in on all of your recent events.” Shawn’s lips pulled upward into a smile as he watched my face morph into a look of horror.

“He doesn’t even work for the company anymore, what’s the point of calling him?” I argued, mortified at the thought of my dad catching a flight to where I am, and popping up when I least expected it.

“Oh I know that, but I have a gut feeling that me letting you off with a warning won’t be good enough. I personally feel the need to bust out the big guns.” A smirk plastered to his face, he was joking, but I knew he’d actually do it if he had to. I felt betrayed, so much for our vow to never snitch.

“No, no, I’ll take a warning!” I shouted nearly popping out of my chair, to which he busted out into laughter. He leaned back in his seat holding his stomach, he sobered up after a moment, and then he got serious again.

“Is it something you want to talk about? It’s not like you, to start fights, you just got back off a year long recovery kid, and already you’re stirring up drama.” He waited for my reply, his hands clasped together on top of his desk, and his eyes searching mine.

I inhaled deeply, “Maybe, I’m a bit on edge since I’ve been away…a little insecure I guess.” I mumbled, I was too embarrassed to mention who Mandy and I were arguing over.

Shawn scratched his beard like a wise old mange, he thought about his own reply, his eyebrows drew together. A pensive expression on his face. “Desiree, being away from the camera doesn’t make you forgetable, not having passion, and desire is what can make you forgetable. See what I did there?” I couldn’t help but let out a small giggle, I pulled my knees up to my chest, and rested my chin on my kneecaps. There were so many thoughts going through my head, and often compressing myself helped to slow things down.

“I know it’s hard, trust me if there’s anyone around here that knows what it’s like to let the pressure get to you, it’s me. Now I’m no therapist, but you gotta get all those thoughts outta you, talk about it to someone, anyone. When you bottle it all up, ya end up putting someone in a chicken wing.” Another wise word from Shawn Michaels, but not without the comedy of course. He was right, no matter how much Mandy gets on my mother fucking nerves, I shouldn’t have put my hands on her.

“Thanks for going easy on me.” I smiled sheepishly, bringing my legs down, and inhaling air deeply into my lungs. Now I felt calmer than I did, and thanks to Shawn shifting my perception, I had a more positive outlook on my current journey here in the WWE.

“Don’t take it for granted, I do have old Ron Simons number on speed dial kid.” He grinned, then stood up from his desk, and I mirrored his movements standing from my seat as well. He clapped his hand on my shoulder, and in combination with the hair ruffling, it transported me back to my kid self again.

Before I left the office, I had to tell him just once, “I’m happy you’re still around Shawn.” I said as I stood in between the threshold of the doorway, he seemed a bit taken aback by my statement. His eyes were glossy, but he blinked it away.

“Duh, who else is gonna bail you out?” He rolled his eyes, his office phone began to ring, pulling his attention away from me. He smiled apologetically, “Hate to cut it short Des, but this old man does have business to handle. Stay out of trouble.” He waved me goodbye one last time, before sending me on my way.

Our conversation wasn't long, but it was needed. That was the first time I admitted, out loud to someone other than my cats, how the recovery was affecting me internally. Today it blew up in my face, while it was perfectly normal for me to be upset, but I don’t pride myself on resorting to any unnecessary violence. Especially with someone so insignificant as Mandy, the training seemed to be over for the day. The only people left hanging around were Mercedes. She sat in the middle of the ring, a bored expression on her face as she doom scrolled through her phone.

“Jail wasn’t as bad as I thought.” I joked, I hopped up on the apron of the ring, and took a seat. She smiled at me, the corners of her lips turning up ever so slightly.

“Never took you for an alley cat, but this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve surprised me DeeDee.” Mercedes sat next to me, our shoulders touching, but neither one of us spoke. My watch buzzed several times. I glanced down to see Drew had been texting me earlier, but the training held my attention.

“Apparently I stole her move, and she was mad about it.” I said, my tone nonchalant, and my eyes staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. It all sort of blurred together.

Mercedes turned to me, I could see the confusion on her face in my peripheral. “What?” She chuckled. I spared myself the embarrassment of telling her the other half of the argument, the last thing I wanted to hear was a lecture from Ms. Bad Bitch.

“Exactly my reaction, but it’s whatever though I’ll handle her at a different time.” I laughed, she watched me with a weary expression, her eyes squinting at me, and I suddenly felt nervous under her gaze.

“Was that all? Because you was about ready to knock her head off.” She turned to me sitting on her knees, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her arms folded. It was slightly intimidating, but I stood my ground.

“Yes, that’s all, I swear.” I lied, I couldn’t take her scrutiny, so I stood up, stretching my arms. She followed my lead getting to her feet, she parted her lips to say something but decided against it fortunately for me. We climbed out of the ring, and I made sure to gather my things that were left on the apron.

“Alright, I’ll let it go, for now.” She sighed in a defeated tone, she smiled, and held her arms out to me. I pulled her into a hug, we squeezed each other tightly before letting go. We walked out the Performance Center with our arms looped together talking about our sparring match, and making plans to hang out later in the week. We said our last goodbyes with another tight hug, then headed off in our separate directions.

By the time I got home, showered, and changed my clothes, I was exhausted. I was thankful for being in Florida this week, even if you get used to sleeping in hotels, nothing beats the feeling of sleeping in your own bed. I plopped down on the couch in the living room, and instantly Andrew and Sadie came to cuddle underneath me. Sadie being the neediest, buried her body between my arms, happily purring all the while. Andrew however, sat next to me, snuggly at my side, and happily made biscuits out of the couch.

I looked at my phone, scrolling through the endless list of text messages, a few from April, which is shocking because she doesn't text me all that often. Mainly because she knows I don't always have a chance to respond in an appropriate amount of time, but also because she likes to talk on the phone. I, however, despise phone conversations.

2:30 pm April: Why did Mercedes tell me you got into a fight?

2: 35 pm April: Are you okay?

2:40 pm April: Did you get in trouble?

I let out a breath of hair, then made a note to text her back later. If I forgot to do that, I’m sure she’ll blow up my phone some more. Then I opened Drew’s messages.

8:00 am Drew: get your ass up, we’re going for a walk

10:50 am Drew: hey wanna get breakfast? My treat.

3:15 pm Drew: call me later when you get a chance.

I felt bad for not going on that walk with him this morning, I texted him back in my head, but clearly that message hadn’t translated into my phone. The phone barely rang three times before he answered, the volume of his tv turned down before he spoke. “Okay so you’re not dead, nor have you been kidnapped.” He said half heartedly, though there was a genuine worried undertone in his voice, and I don't blame him. I’m usually very consistent with texting back. But today it just slipped me, especially after that little spat with Mandy. I grimaced at the thought of her, and my expression only deepened when I remembered the original reason I called him in the first place.

“Hey, can you come over?” I mumbled, tears rolled down my checks, and onto my sweater. My throat felt restricted, and my heart began to skip, every part of me wanted to crawl into the deepest hole. Drew hadn’t said anything yet, knowing him, he’s racking his brain trying to decipher why I sounded like I’m dying.

“Of Course sweetheart, want me to bring you anything? He asked softly, I could hear the jingle of keys, and shuffling on his side of the phone. I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand, inhaling deeply, I tried to gather myself.

“Mmm, maybe chicken nuggets.” My voice cracked, giving me away, but it’s not like I tried very hard to hide my emotions today.

“Shit.” He cursed under his breath, “Just stay where you are, I’m leaving the hotel right now okay?”

I nodded my head, “Okay.” He didn't hang up the phone, I could hear his engine roar to life, and the sound of the city streets. About half an hour passed by the time he finally made it to my house, the doorbell rang, and the cats perked up from the sound. I could see Drew’s large tall frame from my side of the stained glass door, pulling it open, and stepping back so he could come in. I closed the door behind him, Drew made his way into the kitchen to set the food on the counter, and Sadie followed quickly, now interested in the large man that just entered our home.

“Des, I got you the usual six piece spicy nuggets, and a fruit punch juice.” He said, upon entering the kitchen, Andrew was being more vocal than usual, practically singing to Drew. He turned on his back, puring, and meowing. Drew, not one to turn down the attention of a fur-baby, scratched Andrew’s chin, and rubbed his belly gently. Sadie pawed my ankle, she didnt wanna be left out, so when I bent to reach for her, she leapt into my arms with ease.

“Thanks…” I trailed off, I wasn't sure how to start this conversation, or if I should even bring it up at all anymore. The anger I had earlier has long since vanished, but I was still upset about it. That bitch tried to embarrass me, and who knows what else she’s been saying, or laughing about behind my back, meanwhile Drew knew this the whole time and didn’t even tell me.

“Did you and Mandy fuck?” I asked, cutting straight to the point, he slowly turned his attention away from Andrew, and onto me. I stood next to him at the kitchen island, a good amount of space between us, but I wanted it that way. I didn't need him to distract me.

An expression of culpability washed over his face, but he met my furious glare head on. “Yes.” He answered, as big as he is in stature, he seemed to have shrunk just now. His shoulders slumped, hands at his sides, and strands of his hair had fallen into his face. “I’m guessing she told you?”

“She didn't just tell me, she rubbed it in my face, then proceeded to claim she could have you anytime she wanted.'' I explained. My hands balled into fist, the thought of that hussy all over Drew like she owned him, pissed me off all over again.

“That’s not true, not even in the slightest, I’d never go back to her now that–

“Now that I’m back to entertain you? Well what happens if I leave again? What then?” I argued cutting him off, which I knew pissed him off, and he was right on my heels when I turned to walk off.

“C’mon you don't honestly believe that do you? Desiree.” He begged, I whipped around stopping him mid stride, and causing us to nearly collide into each other, his eyes widened in shock.

“I don't know what to believe, you had me walking around that stank ass bitch looking stupid. Smiling in her face trying to be nice to her, and you had your dick all in her!” For once he was stumped, but he was quick to recover, talking so fast that his accent took over his vernacular. I barely understood him.

“We only had sex once! That was a year, and a half ago at this point, I didn't even finish on top of that. I couldn't finish, god it was so stupid.” He mumbled the last part, his voice dipping lower just then. “What you give me, I can't get from any other woman, and I know that now.” Drew McIntyre, 6’5 275 lbs, is on his knees, in the middle of my living room. Begging for my forgiveness, his arms wrapped around my hips, and his face pressed to my stomach. A hot ass mess.

I rolled my eyes, “Please get up Drew, you're a grown man.” I breathed heavily, he put more of his weight onto me, he had an iron grip around my hips.

“Does that mean you forgive me?” He asked, a hopeful look on his face, and his bottom lip poked out.

“I’ll think about it.” I mumbled, my arms crossed over my chest, and my nose turned upwards, he let out a defeated breath, reluctantly he let go of me. Standing to his feet once again, he went over to the kitchen, shooed the cats away, who had snuck back into the kitchen, and had begun to sniff the plastic food bag. He brought it into the living room where I had plopped down onto the sofa, my legs folded together, and my elbow digging into my thigh holding up my head as I surfed the channels on the tv I barely watched.

There still was one thing that bothered me, “Why didn’t you just tell me? At least a heads up, this was the worst surprise of all time, it was embarrassing, and the worst part was I reacted violently.”

“You what?” He looked up at me, shock evident in his eyes, he stood up from his kneeling position, then I took him by the hand, and led him over to the sofa. I didn't sit too close still wanting to have my own space, he noticed it, but did not speak on it.

“Today Shawn Michaels had me and some others from the main roster do some sort of a wrestlers digest for the NXT kids.” I said rolling my eyes, I was ready to put the whole day behind me, but since I brought it up, I decided to continue on. Drew came and sat beside me, he had kicked off his shoes, and was sitting with one of his legs tucked under the other. I offered him a chicken nugget, but he declined.

“Anyways, it was going pretty okay, but then afterwards Mandy just ripped into me. First, she accused me of stealing her drop move, which I did not because what the fuck does that bitch thinks she can teach me?” I explained as I munched away, abstinemindly Drew massaged Sadie’s head, while Andrew snuggled next to my thigh.

“Then she’s all like, ‘Drew thinks about me all the time’ and then she was like ‘And I’ll do it again if I want to’ ugh I should have strangled her.” It hadn’t occurred to me that I was gripping the Wendy's bag until Drew’s large hands wrapped around my wrist.

Drew hooked his finger underneath my chin, and gently turned my face back to him, his gray-blue irises looked like a stormy sky. His eyebrows drawn together, he said, “She never took me away from you.” He declared, I stared into his eye trying to find a flicker of dishonesty, or regret. All I could see was sincerity, and shame, the pain in my chest soothed as the minutes went by. I closed my eyes focusing on my breathing, finally I made my decision, no longer upset with him, and Mandy long forgotten, I launched myself onto Drew’s side of the sofa. My arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, and my face nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

A strong stent of tea tree mint wafted into my nostrils, my lips turned upward into a smile for the first time today. Just as he was wrapping his arms around my waist I pulled back, “Are you still washing your hair with the same hair company I recommend?”

“Of course, why would I change it?” His lips curled into a playful grin, my fingers played with his soft, dark hair. He never let it get too long, he usually kept it trimmed at his shoulders. His hands crept underneath my sweater top, caressing my skin, slowly moving up, and down my back. I startled his waist, my knees on either side of his thighs, and I stood up on my knees so that I now towered over him.

“I love seeing you like this, so fucking beautiful.” He breathed, a dark sensation washed over me, and I was suddenly in the mood. My fingers gripped his hair with authority, and pulled his head back. Drew let out a deep groan, his nails digging into my flesh, but the stinging sensations sent a tingle down my spine and right between my legs. “I liked it when you begged me, you should do it more often.” I whispered, my lips just barely touched his, and when he tried to move his head to meet me halfway, I yanked his hair.

“Relax sweetheart.” I teased, I trailed kisses down his neck, licking, and sucking his skin as I went. His body melted under my lips, I pulled his shirt over his head, and continued to pepper kisses across his broad chest.

When I get past his belly button he starts to make a fuss, “We don’t have to–

“Don’t speak unless I say so, you deserve this.” I snapped at him, Drew’s lips pressed together agreeing to be compliant. I understood that he could physically overpower me if he wanted, and since he didn’t I continued to play.

“Look at where acting like a slut got you, right back to me.” I traced the line of hair that ran from his bellybutton, and disappeared underneath his jeans. The hairs across his chest, and stomach were soft. Such a drastic difference than when we first met, he was damn near hairless.

“Take off your jeans.” I ordered him, nearly jumping up off the sofa, and doing what was told. The cats had long since abandoned us, and my food had gotten cold as it sat half eaten on the glass coffee table. He kicked his jeans off, “briefs too cowboy.” I teased, he was hasty with his movements not wanting to waste a second, I patted his spot where he was sitting. “Sit.” My voice dropped to a whisper, I moaned out upon seeing his semi hardened cock. It was thicker than I remembered, fat even, it flopped around as he got back into a comfortable sitting position. The sound of his flesh slapping against flesh made my pussy tingle with desire.

He reached his hand down to wrap around himself but I smacked his hand away, a look of annoyance flashed in his eyes. “Oh I know that’s not an attitude?” I folded my arms over my chest, daring him to challenge me, but he didn’t move off the couch.

“Desiree please—

I cut him off before he could continue, “Do it again.” I smirked, my heart beating excitedly, I was getting a rush of adrenaline from the power I was feeling.

“Say…please.” I mocked in a melodic voice, I sat perched on my knees beside him, I placed my hand on his thigh. His eyes slid closed, I leaned in, tucked his hair behind his ear, and softly kissed the tip of his ear. “I hate to have to ask twice.” I whispered huskily, my hand crept up his thigh, and up to his lower stomach. He still didn’t give, his eyelids snapped open, they sparkled with defiance. I bit my lip to hold back my laughter.

“Always thought you were more of a brat than me but that's fine.” I shrugged, my hand ghosted over his tip, I watched his face closely as I gently swiped the pre-cum off with my index finger. He watched as I brought my finger up to my lips, flicking my tongue out, and licking the stickiness off. I licked my hand, then reached down again, this time gripping his dick in my palm; not too tightly, but just the way he liked.

“Shit, please, I just need to feel you. I missed you so much, please.” He begged, his breathing deepened, and his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

My unoccupied hand reached up to wrap around the top of his head, I caressed his long, silky dark hair like a pet. “That’s a good boy, now, was that so hard?” I pulled my sweater over my head revealing my bare breast, Drew’s eyes dropped to my chest, I could feel his fingers twitch against my thigh where his hand rested. His eyes darted back up to my face, and back to my chest, wordlessly asking me for permission. I lifted an eyebrow questioning him.

“Can I touch you?” He blurted out as if he had been holding his breath, I stifled a laugh, and wondered to myself if this was how I looked when our roles were reversed.

“You can touch me anywhere you want.” I caved, though I’m proud of myself for getting this far, and astounded Drew allowed my shenanigans to ensue. I missed the way he touched me, he’s always gentle as if he might break me.

His hand slid from my thigh up the side of my hip, and around to my lower back. The other grasped onto my hand, placed it back around his dick, the tip of him peeking out more and more as he became more aroused. “Fuck, you always know how to stroke me princess.” He groaned, he grabbed me by the chin, and met me halfway in a deep, heated kiss. Our lips intertwined as we moaned into each other, wordlessly begging for more.

“Tell me what you want from me first.” Drew mumbled between kisses, his hands caressing my body, and found their way to my breast. He took my nipple between his thick fingers, at first he squeezed gently as if testing his own strength, but then applying pressure.

My back arched, the sharp sensation traveled down to the core of me between my thighs. “My pussy, I need it.” I whined, I held on to his large shoulder for balance. Drew sucked on my skin, following up with wet sloppy kisses, then repeating the same with my other breast. He presses his face into my cleavage then breaths me in, his hands on my back, nails digging into my skin as he drags them down. I let out a shuddering breath, for a moment we just stayed there in the moment.

“Lay back.” He murmurs against my skin, then kisses me one last time before letting me go so I could reposition myself. I rest comfortably on the sofa pillows, my hands found their way to my breast, and lightly ghost over my nipples. The tickling causes them to tighten, almost painfully; I open my eyes to see Drew already staring down at me, slowly stroking himself. I place my feet on his thighs, and slide them up, replacing his hands. “Fuck, that feels good princess.” He moaned as I gently brushed my toes against him, his eyes closed for a moment, and his breaths deepened. Grabbing me by my legs, and pushing them back further, and spreading me open wider. He lowered between my thighs pressing his lips softly, and leaving a wet trail of kisses down to my core.

“Spread it open for me sweetheart.” He instructed huskily, his chest rising and falling. His eyes watched mine as my hands moved down between my soft, squishy thighs, I slipped two of my fingers into my vagina. “That’s my good girl.” He moaned, his eyes were intently focused on my hand, when I slowly pulled my fingers out, and spread myself wide for him. He licked his lips, then gently, he pushed himself into me. Not only had it been two years of not being with him, but a long two years of not having the touch of a man at all. I had hit a depressive low causing my desires to fully leave my body, I didn’t want to be looked at or touched by anyone but myself. Drew stretched me in a way I had forgotten about, he slowly, and carefully slid into me. At first the pain was unavoidable, my hands gripped his sides, and I couldn’t help the way my nails dug into his flesh.

He grunted, then let out a deep breath, “fuck, that’s right princess, grip me just like that.” On command I tightened around him, his hips picked up a steady rhythm, one that I had missed. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and my hands cupped his face. I gripped his beard pulling him to me, and kissed his lips hungrily. “Harder.” I demanded he slowed to a pause then looked me in my eyes, those beautiful stormy eyes of his piercing my soul.

“Are you sure?” He asked, the pain of my nipples tightening caused me to arch my back, and let out a whine.

“Yes, please, please.” I begged, he lowered his head between the crook of my neck, and pressed his lips to my pulse. He roughly slid back into me once, then twice, and after the third time he kept that pace. Relentless thrusting into me, my pussy throbbed deliciously as I took him in, “just like that, give me all that dick baby.” I breathed out greedily, I hung onto him for dear life as he rocked into me.

“You take all of me so well princess, fuck you fit so perfectly.” He moaned into my ear, I was right on the edge of a long overdue orgasam, and I damn near couldn’t take it.

“Oh– fuck Drew I can’t.” I cried, my eyes screwed shut, and my head was thrown back. Nothing else mattered right now, I didn’t care if the police were banging at my door, they were gonna have to see this.

“Let it out princess, fucking scream it in my ears, I wanna hear you.” He didn’t stop till I came squirting all over him, myself and my very expressive sofa making a mess of everything.

“Oh!” I shouted, my muscles tensed, and tears sprouted from my eyes. How fucking embarrassing. As if my convulsions weren’t enough to indicate I was basically dying and couldn’t take anymore, Drew felt the need to swipe his tongue between my swollen lips.

“Look at this fucking mess you made, I guess I’ve gotta clean it up.” He grinned devilishly, he slurped the juices that slid down my thighs, and worked his way up to my clit. He sucked me into his mouth then let me go with a pop of his lips. He chuckled deeply as he watched me lie there to catch my breath, “you’re not dead yet.” He laughed, which was an asshole move considering I can’t even feel my legs right now.

“Fuck you.” I rebuttal childishly, which only made him laugh harder causing his dimples to become more prominent, which is how the fuck I got into this predicament in the first place. His silly little grin was my weakness. I stood up from the couch, and collected my clothes.

He chuckled then slapped me on the ass as I bent over, “where was all that shit talking energy a moment ago?” I could feel from the vibrato in his voice that he was indeed proud of himself. We’ll see who has the last laugh though.

“Haha, you’re sleeping on the couch…asshole.” I laughed dryly, then side stepped him, he scoffed in disbelief. His eyes having a hard time looking me in the face in his current state, my nipples stiffened from the friction of the soft cotton sweater I held against my breast. I swallowed my desires, my nose upturned, and my lips pressed together. He may have won the battle, but he won’t win the war.

“You’re joking?” He asked, I stood at the bottom of the stairs, then turned to look at him. He stood in the middle of the living room, a desperate look in his eyes, and his dick still hard as rocks. I ached for him, but he had to be punished somehow.

I shrugged my shoulders, “if I were joking, wouldn't you be laughing?” On that note I swiftly turned and made my way up the stairs, had it not been for the banister holding me up my knees would have buckled underneath me. Once I made it to my room I threw my clothes in the hamper, then ran myself a bath. I soaked until I became wrinkly, then I got out, pulled on one of Drew’s shirts he definitely didn’t know I still had, and threw myself in the bed. My phone rang on the nightstand, I groaned, turning over to grab it, and blindly answering not bothering to check the caller ID.

“Hello?” I asked, my voice already laced with sleepiness, and my eyelids heavy. I suddenly sparked back to life if only for a few moments when I heard his voice.

“I can’t sleep.” Drew spoke into the phone, and though we were in the same house he felt miles away. Just then Sadie had found her way into my bed, and Andrew was in his usual spot in the window, keeping watch till he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

I snorted, “it’s only been thirty minutes.”

“So? Don’t you miss our late night talks?” I could hear him shuffle on his end before he settled, I didn’t fight the smile that turned upward into my lips.

“I do…” I confessed, that’s all he needed to hear before he started telling me stories about his childhood, and Scotland. I didn’t chime in, I just loved hearing his voice, and how thick his accent got the more comfortable he was. Soon enough I got too sleepy to even indicate to him I was dozing off, and the next thing I knew I was dreaming.

[aubins]

TOA Anniversary Munday

Celebrating TOA and the people who contribute to make our group what it is.

Repost, don't reblog. Only fill in what you feel comfortable sharing!

Happy anniversary, TOA! Here's to many more years spent together.

Name: darcy, but i also go by qiu!

Pronouns: they/he

Birthday (no year): january 9th

Where are you from? What is your time zone? sea & gmt+8

How long is your roleplay experience? god who knows HAHA not me i fear

How were you introduced to roleplaying as a whole? .........kik..........and then amino when i really got into it a bit more lmfao

How were you introduced to TOA? through the heart & soul ad on twitter!

Do you have any pets? unfortunately not i must live vicariously through family & friends

What is your favorite time of year and why? i do love the -ber months generally. it's nice to have cooler weather as someone who lives in a tropical country though it's not by much these days i fear

What is your IRL occupation? i'm a full-time university student atm studying psychology!

Some interests and things you like/enjoy? writing of course but for less obvious answers: piano, photography, badminton, archery, history, mathematics, languages, etc etc i like learning basically haha

What non-Fire Emblem games do you play? 13 sentinels, somnium files, life is strange, genshin impact, honkai: star rail, zenless zone zero, pokemon. prosekai sometimes. and i love love the ace attorney series so much miles edgeworth among us is the funniest shit i've ever seen

Favorite Pokemon type & Pokemon: fairy type! and it's both mimikyu & ditto really i couldn't pick but i think i said ditto last year so i will say mimikyu this year haha

Tell us some funfacts and trivia about yourself! i used to do international math competitions when i was younger! haven't done since the pandemic but they were good fun i do love math & competition haha so put them together i'm bound to enjoy myself

How did you get into Fire Emblem? my brother bought fe3h & i decided to play it too. i simply never made my way out of that rabbit hole

What Fire Emblem games have you played? fe11, fe12, fe16 (+ hopes), & fe17 + i've watched playthroughs of tellius & sov! nothing much different from last year except i've since watched a playthrough of awakening as well. still haven't finished my actual awakening playthrough but one day...

First & Favorite Fire Emblem games: i said fe3h for my first last year but i think it might have actually been heroes now that i'm really thinking about it LOL not seriously in the slightest though i'm p sure i dropped it after the first few days until i properly got into fire emblem. don't have much of a favorite but i enjoy 3hopes purely because musou gameplay tickles a very specific part of my brain

List your 5 favorite Fire Emblem characters across the series! yuri, alear, est, shez, and lucina

Who was the first character ever to make you go “ooh I like this one in particular” and why? Can be any context and reason! yuri. to no one's suprise least of all my own but also the whole ashen wolves house really. you could say i really like those guys in particular

Any Fire Emblem crushes? ���� nope

If you’ve played (or are familiar with) the following games, who was your first S support? Who would you S support nowadays? - Three Houses: claude & yuri- Engage: gave the pact ring to veyle my first playthrough then reset it after. honestly i don't know though maybe gregory or timerra

Favorite Fire Emblem class? i like mage cannoneer. funny guys

If you were a Fire Emblem character, what would be your class and stats? Would you be playable? dancer except i play you a silly tune on my keyboard. high speed & dexterity and ok magic stats then everything else is probably dogshit LMFAO

If you were a Three Houses character, what would be your affiliation? fear the deer!!!

If you were an Officers Academy student, what would be your boons, banes and potential budding talent? - Boons: sword, reason - Banes: axes, faith, heavy armor - Budding Talent: bow

If you were an Engage character, which nation would you originate from? solm is my favorite but i'd probably want to live in firene

How do you pronounce TOA? 🤔 separate letters

Current TOA muses: just this guy right here

Past TOA muses? marianne, caeda, est, kvasir, clarisse, & timerra! if there's been anyone else i'm very sorry to have forgotten you haha

Who was your first TOA muse? If you no longer have them, can you see yourself picking them up again? miss marianne von edmund :softsmile: anyway probably not & she's in good hands now besides

Do you believe you have a type of character you gravitate towards writing? i'm sure i do but i wouldn't be able to name it myself haha but i like to think i tend to have some kind of variety in character archetypes and tropes i enjoy writing

Do you have characters or types of characters you don’t think you can handle writing, but wish you could? if i like them enough to put in the effort i could write most anyone i think

What kind of scenes, situations etc do you believe you enjoy writing the most? anything that significantly alters the relationship between two characters. even better if it's for the worse really i do enjoy antagonistic relationships. but yeah i loooove developing relationships between muses. especially with a muse that barely trusts anyone besides themself. yuri never does what i want them anyway to do so it's great for me, really

Do you have any scenario in mind for your muse(s) that gets you thinking “man I hope I get to write this one day”? i would really love to write yuri during their time as a student at the officers academy. or an au where they are a student at the officers academy in present time. i'd like to explore their role as count rowe's “son” more in depth one day as one of if not their longest lasting identity (excluding their actual one obviously LOL). less specific but i just love aus in general i would love to do more aus

Favorite TOA-related memories? est & sirius getting their attacks redirected at one another and whiffing all of them always makes me laugh. the harmony lance phalanx strats were also funny i do think fondly of that arena. happyland was really fun though one of my favorite events so far for sure :] i blow a kiss to north island yuri's home away from home & east island week 4

Present or past tense? present tense is my general go to for roleplay but i don't mind either or

Normal size text, small text, no preference? small text is easier for me to parse personally but i don't have any preference from my partners

Got any potential muse delusions to share? 😉 not so much delusions as they are old muses but i do mourn that i never quite got kvasir & timerra off the ground as much as i'd have liked to. if i ever find the time i'd love to revisit both one day. shez is also a constant plague upon my mind i just love a purple guy what can i say

[ghostinthegallery]

Nearly all of my writing projects require a fight/battle scene right now...

I am not in the mood to write a fight/battle scene...

I know! I'll write about fight/battle scenes instead!! That's productive, right?

Truth be told, in general I do love writing action. One-on-one, small scale fights, huge battles. I love it! The movement, the drama, the tension and release of it all. But I do hear some people struggle with it, so here is my approach. Maybe it'll be helpful.

Golden rule: writing a fight scene is just like writing a sex scene. It is physical and emotional. The action should build on and be based around the characters. And it is very important to keep track of how many limbs everyone has and what they are doing.

I am lucky to have experience as a fencer, some martial arts, I've shot firearms, and I am a general history nerd. It is very helpful to have a baseline understanding of how weapons are used and how they feel. But with the internet this information is easily acquired! Go to youtube, search for the weapons your characters are using (or the closest equivalent for magic/scifi weaponry) and watch people fight. SCA and historical fencing tournaments are great for this. Trust me, weapon nerds love explaining how their stuff works.

Now, the main thing to remember when writing action is that you are balancing believability with entertainment. Note I say believability and not realism. Because in reality, most fights are short, brutal, and not fun to watch. This is not our goal as writers. However, you want your audience to believe the action on some level, so I like to go in vaguely knowing the most grounded version of how a fight would go, and then building off of that to make it actually fun.

Okay, that's all the background but what about the actual writing? At its core, an action scene is no different from any other type of scene. Your character has a goal and they are taking steps to achieve it. So in the fight, what is your character's goal? Don't just pick "survival". Get more specific. How are they going to survive? Escape? Kill their opponent? Disable them? Or is their goal something different, like holding an enemy back or reaching a destination? Protecting someone or something? Once you know that, it is much easier to come up with the beats of a fight because that goal will determine the actions your characters take.

This also works for large scale battle scenes. In fact, I would say a clearly defined goal is even more important in that context! Otherwise the audience will get lost in all the moving parts. Star Wars, great example: the final battle against the Death Star gives everyone the explicit goal of firing torpedoes into the vent before the DS blows up the rebel base. Simple, easy to to follow, orients the audience so we know what they heck is going on.

Make the stakes clear. What will happen if your protags win the fight? What will happen if they lose? Usually this is easier in smaller encounters (life or death, losing mcguffins). But battles have stakes too. Will a lot of people die if the enemy takes a city (Lord of the Rings, Helms Deep great example). Will your character be shamed if they lose? Do they have something to gain in victory? Or are they a soldier on the front lines just trying to find a way to stay alive? If the goal and stakes are clear, it is much easier to make your audience care about the outcome of whatever you have set up.

As for the actions your characters will take and how to write them? That is where you draw on your research plus your knowledge of the characters. Are they bold and reckless? Cautious? Write their fighting style accordingly.

When I write, I try to vary up action with reaction. A character lunges with their sword, describe the physicality of that. Describe how they feel when their sword is parried or their opponent leaps out of range. Describe the counterattack, then how your character reacts. Use these moments of outward action and internal reaction to set the pace of the fight.

Short sentences mean faster pacing. More frenetic. Faster, desperate. They build tension. Whereas longer sentences will slow things down and give the reader a chance to breathe and absorb what has just happened. You will use both, but use them deliberately.

Mastering the pacing of an action scene takes practice, like everything else, but you will start to get a feel for things after a while!

Battles can be harder because most of us are not generals schooled in military tactics, so they seem quite intimidating. However, most battles come down to two things:

do not get flanked

do not break formation

If the enemy surrounds you? Bad. If the enemy messes up the formation of your army? Bad. All battles pretty much come down to that. The rest is just flavor based on your setting and what people have access to in order to inflict violence on people they do not like.

(One trick I enjoy is to find major historical battles and just...copy them. Trust me, nobody will know ;))

Do not forget the environment in which the battle or fight is taking place! It is vitally important (and will give you things to write about besides just punches/blows or whatever). Watch the John Wick movies for super good examples of this for fight scenes. And remember, clever use of terrain has changed the course of history (*cough* Agincourt *cough*) so do not neglect it!

That is pretty much it! Feel free to ask me questions, I love talking about this (and procrastinating. what? who said that?).

[510amy5]

On April 8 I got to experience something absolutely incredible: a total solar eclipse. Its hard to express just how exciting this was for me but here goes.

I have always loved space, ever since I was a kid. I played the Magic School Bus planets game, I read about how the moon affects our tides, I learned how to make a pin hole projector for watching a partial solar eclipse at 5 years old. I started learning constellations (my fav has always been Cassiopeia) and could find north using the stars by the time I was 8. When I was 10, our family Christmas gift was a very large and fancy telescope. Suddenly I was no longer limited to my naked eyes. We spent a couple nights a week all summer looking at anything interesting we could find in the night sky. I learned to use a star chart, locate the planets on the ecliptic and of course operate our telescope (which was powerful enough that the rotation of earth was noticeable over the course of a couple mins). This is when I came up with my space bucket list.

Some items were ones I saw before the list was created, but they were amazing and helped inform my items yet to be experienced.

Space things I've seen:

Rocks on the moon

Craters on mars

Rings of Saturn

Jupiter's spot

Binary star system

Total lunar eclipse

The international space station (through telescope)

Moons around Mars, Jupiter and Saturn

Venus transit of the sun

Total solar eclipse

Space things I want to see:

Shuttle launch

Aurora borealis

Rings of Neptune

An asteroid

A comet

I was over the moon (pun intended) when I found out that I was near the path of totality for this eclipse. 20 mins drive to move an item from the bottom list to the top one. That's what this started as for me, a box to check and an opportunity to say "that was cool".

So I drove with my parents and my baby and we setup our lawn chairs at the community centre in the town south of us. Its a tiny, middle of nowhere town where everything closes on Sundays and they only have 1 traffic light. Suddenly it was on the map as people traveled in to experience the eclipse. It felt like a big picnic with people chatting and sitting out with their families, pulling out their special glasses every few moments to look up.

I watched as the moon sliced away at the sun. Bit by bit the light got darker and weirder and the temperature dropped. It was exciting but there was also something viscerally unsettling about it. My mind knew this was fun but my body knew something was WRONG. The sun is such an easy thing to take for granted. Its always there, shining away just the same. But when something so fundamental changes, your body notices. This was a duality of experience I never expected.

Then we finally reached the point of totality. This was the moment I had been waiting for, my check box experience. But it was way more than just cool. The world went dark, street lights coming on and birds breaking out in sudden confused song. The people around me cheered and hugged. And I, as I so often have before, I looked up. Understanding the mechanics of an eclipse and having it described couldn't come close to what I was now looking at. I expected a hole in the sky but you could still see the outline of the moon. Not like a "ring of fire" eclipse, but just because the sun puts out that much light and power. The tendrils of the corona reached as far into space as the sun was wide, waved and curled into lines way more organic than the sun beams I always imagined. I had heard the corona was going to make a good show due to this year being the solar maximum but that was an understatement. It was like being on an alien planet orbiting a weird star. I took a quick video for a friend and then just soaked up the moment. Totality only lasts a couple mins and too soon a diamond spark appeared on the edge. No longer safe to look at. We donned our glasses and just stared in awe. It was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

Other groups started to pack up around us. We waited though, watching as the sun slowly regained purchase in the sky. The birds stopped singing, the light normalized. I changed my baby's diaper before we hopped in the car to drive home.

In history and media, a total eclipse is often seen as the beginning of the apocalypse or an omen of some kind and I can see why. It is an experience so alien and rare that it must have some deeper meaning right? I agree. In my case however, what I see is the beauty of God's creation. I see all the factors that lined up to give me the gift of this experience and I see His hand. Now I sit and work to find the words to convey an indescribable event, hoping I can share some of this experience. I can only hope I live to see this sight again.