#also not intending to step on anyone's toes here !!!

[stagehunt]

more thoughts on aven and topaz and why i don't really interpret them as having the close relationship that i see a lot of in the fandom + his general feelings about her. talking about the checking out quest a little in the beginning.

screenshots from my own transcript but they're still word for word. aven is more than aware that the tb is never going to accept a job offer from the ipc and treats this entire exchange as the joke that is, and an excuse to get under topaz' skin a little. just for fun. interesting then, how topaz immediately starts to get very personal during this little debate — while simultaneously displaying how well she actually knows aven, which is honestly not at all. i wouldn't blame this on a lack of understanding on her part, but on the way aven keeps everyone at arms distance, a distinct lack of trust in her from aven, and radically different outlooks on their work and life.

both of the dialogue excerpts kind of highlight that but i want to focus on the second one here because it immediately reminded me of a personal headcanon when i was playing the quest through.

so. i'd already made the assumption that aven didn't have many staff working under him — both because of his treatment within the ipc / the varying reactions to who he is and his history with the previous aventurine which is pretty much public knowledge, his preference for working solo, and his habits of putting himself in harms way and taking very unreasonable risks. he'd assume that topaz sees these " work habits " she mentions as the main reason that people don't work to him but he also knows that she isn't foolish enough to think that's the only reason anyway. which is why he then immediately reminds her that diamond doesn't particularly care WHAT he does so long as he secures the bag at the end of the day.

it's for things like this, and her general hostility towards him ( which does seem to vary, but her voice line about him is very harsh as opposed to what she tells us about him when she knows he's around / how she acts to his face ) and with the sheer amount of manipulation she's under, the things she genuinely believes about the ipc and her job there, he does personally think that it's impossible for her not to have absorbed at least some of the ipc's common opinions on him, the avgin + avgin extinction event / ipc's involvement on sigonia, and the egyhazo - aventurine case, and allowed them to colour her impression of him before really getting to know him.

however as i mentioned in those disc screenshots, aven is obviously aware of the predatory nature of the ipc. he's been working there for almost a decade now, he was a teenager when he first wound up there, and he understands what happened on topaz' planet very well. he understands that she's naive. he understands that she has been essentially groomed, as well as the fact that she's very dedicated to her work. but he also understands that she's a kind hearted person, and that she does try to do what she thinks is the right thing in most situations. it would be ridiculous for me to say that he doesn't sympathise with topaz, even if he does find her a little obnoxious and annoying to be around.

so while he doesn't necessarily feel enough responsibility towards her to put up with her apparent dislike for him, he does subtly keep an eye out for her. when she first became a stoneheart he figured that she should be able to understand his situation better than anyone and that it would make sense for them both to have each others backs as much as possible. but from what he's observed and how they interact with each other, he just cannot convince himself that it would be safe to trust her. he knows he'd have to be careful with his words around her, and that at least currently, she wouldn't ever choose him over the job. still, he has a feeling that if she were ever to open her eyes to what she is complicit in, she'd despise the truth and herself as much as he does, if not more for being so easily strung along by the likes of jade.

so are they friends? no. but if topaz ever genuinely needed help he would be there. he would understand.

[idksmtms]

Plié, Jeté, Relevé (Ballet Master!Cillian Murphy x Ballerina!reader)

A/N: Here you go my lovelies! I have literally never done ballet in my entire life, so any knowledge of this has come from watching tiktoks of ballerinas, movies with ballerinas in them, or my best guesses… anywaysssss, I hope you enjoy it! 

Also, would highly recommend watching the performance of Still Life at the Penguin Cafe on youtube, the music and the dancing is *chefs kiss* 

Summary: You were ready to admit that you hadn’t been at your best the past week or so, but surely you hadn’t been so bad as to deserve this much wrath from Mister Murphy… 

Word count:  3,750 

Trigger Warnings: she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, mean!Cillian, SMUT, dub-con bc of the power imbalance (?), fingering (technically?), humiliation (not as a kink tho), only reader orgasms, depiction of toxic teaching environment, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

If anyone out there believed in the stereotype that all Irish people were happy and jovial then they clearly hadn’t met your ballet master. The man may speak with a lilting musical accent but there was not a thing jovial or happy about him. The master was harsh, verging on cruel. If anyone was caught slacking even the littlest bit, something that would go unnoticed by the rest of the troupe, his voice would crack like a whip through the studio. 

Recently, that whip had been directed at you. You knew you weren’t doing your best. You had hit a rough patch in your entire life. You had been late more times than ever before, more times than you ever would usually be, more times than you would like. And your dancing had been affected as well. Your posture wasn’t straight enough, your pliés weren’t deep enough, your toes not pointed enough. Everything was going wrong, and while you had hoped it wasn’t noticeable, Mr Murphy never failed to find every SINGLE one of your mistakes. 

Today differed in no way. You had dilly-dallied a little too long while getting ready in the morning, only to end up running late for rehearsal. It was no more than five minutes, but from the start of training it was the rule that all ballerinas must be lined up by the barre at exactly ten o’clock every day. For every minute you were late, the worse your punishment got. Usually if someone hit the five minute mark, they went home and sprained their ankle on purpose for an excuse. 

At four minutes, you had run into the hallway outside the studio and thrown your bag onto the ground, disregarding the sound of your water bottle rolling away and one of your keychains cracking under the weight of your things. At five, you were throwing the door open and running inside, slipping into the back of the line and getting into first position. 

Mr Murphy paused in his speech to gaze at you. You stared straight ahead, refusing to look directly at him. Slowly, his eyebrow rose, scrutinising you with a frown that made shame curl in your stomach and tears make themselves known behind your eyes. He slowly brought his hands together, rubbing them as he sighed and began shaking his head. 

“Kind of you to join us,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he made his way closer to you, stepping leisurely, dragging out the fear that made your throat hurt. He stood a few feet away, staring at you in that impenetrable way of his, ice eyes sharp and painful wherever they gazed. He clapped his hands once. “Girls, turn and look at Ms. Y/L/N.” He waited until each of them had turned in their spots, some craning their heads to the side to make sure they were looking at you lest they somehow disobey him. You could see the pity, the sympathy, the smug triumph in each of the girls’ eyes, the frowns and subtle smirks, and you could do nothing other than keep staring ahead of you as your hands and knees suddenly began to tremble. “What is wrong with her?” 

He didn’t ask it in a rude or incredulous way, but as if you were a diagram in a textbook, and this was simply an exercise the students were completing. You were sure your shame was visible on your face, the embarrassment turning your spine to liquid. One of the girls put her hand up, near the front of the room, and you only recognised her for the little kiss-ass she was once she spoke. She had always been that way, desperate for Mr Murphy. Always at the front of the line, always gleeful at the downfall of others, always ready to point out any mistakes. And you were always happy to watch her desperation help her in no way whatsoever. A lot could be said about Mr Murphy, but favouritism was not something he had ever displayed. Whichever ballerina was doing well, recognisably well, was given her dues, and it was left at that. 

“She’s not wearing her tights and leotard, or at least, she’s wearing sweatpants over them. Her pointe shoes are dirty, and her hair isn’t in a bun.” You could almost imagine her satisfied little smirk when she finished speaking, that evil little smile that you had always wanted to punch off her face. One swing, you thought, just one swing… 

“Correct,” he simply responded, threading his fingers through each other and raising his eyebrow at you again, as if confused and annoyed at you for not doing something. “Leave, get your shit together, and then come back inside. If you have not returned within ten minutes, don’t bother returning to rehearsal ever again.” He nudged his chin in the direction of the door and you nodded obediently, eyes downcast as you stood up straight and slowly walked back out. 

When the door was closed behind you once more, you stood silently for a minute, eyes clenched shut and hands curled into fists at your sides. You pressed out a scream behind your pursed lips, teeth clenched so hard your jaw began to hurt. You slammed the heel of your hand against the side of your head again and again and again until your shoulder hurt a little from the motion and your brain felt sufficiently jumbled. Your chest was heaving and you were overwhelmed with rage. You wanted to kick something, to throw something, to go back in there and rip that bitch’s hair out of her bun. You resolved to pulling your pointe shoes off and lobbing them across the hallway as hard as you could, letting out another clenched scream before walking all the way down to pick them up and bring them back. 

You stood in front of your bag and took three deep breaths. You picked up your water bottle from where it had rolled between another two of the ballerinas’ bags, and took huge gulps of water until you felt a little less sweaty with anger. You checked the time on your phone to make sure you hadn’t wasted your ten minutes, then set about carefully pulling off your joggers, folding them up, and placing them inside your duffel. You pulled out a new pair of pointe shoes, cursing yourself for not having prepared them in time and preemptively wincing at the blisters you knew you were going to get by the end of rehearsal. You walked down to the bathroom at the end of the hall in the pointe shoes, hoping to at least break them in a little bit with the short time you had, and used the mirror to quickly pull your hair into a bun, securing it with pins in a practised dance you had learned from years of repetition. You checked yourself once more in the mirror and then looked down at your phone before sprinting full on back to the room and sliding through the doors. You made it just in time. 

Mr Murphy glanced at you as you slipped into position at the back of the line, following the exercises he had been calling out to the ballerinas while you had been out. He methodically looked at every inch of your body, from your pointe shoes to your pink tights and black leotard, from the careful set of your bun to the determined set of your brow and sheen of sweat on your temples. He didn’t say anything directly to you, and you took it as a win. 

At the halfway point, you were all allowed a little break to drink water and have a rest before you switched from exercises to rehearsals for your next performance. You were all practising for your various roles in a performance of ‘Still Life at the Penguin Cafe’, and though you would have to wear a huge mask of a ram on your head, you were ecstatic for the performance. While it wasn’t technically a solo, you were the centre of the piece, being the only one not dressed as a penguin. Now, everything felt so precarious. You couldn’t quite be sure Mr Murphy wouldn’t take the role from you after the past two weeks spent in a slump, and the worry was becoming your ever-present companion. 

Just as the girls were all leaving the room to get water and lounge around on the floor of the hallway, Mr Murphy cleared his throat and snapped his fingers at you. 

“Ms. Y/L/N,” and he pointed at the spot right in front of him. It took everything within you not to sprint to the spot. You took careful, measured, steps and stopped a few feet in front of him, spine straight and head held high. You weren’t sure where to look. You could never meet his eyes, something in your soul was opposed to it, so you chose a spot on the wall just next to his head. 

“You will stay for another hour at the end of the session to make up for your failures this morning, understood?” He raised both his eyebrows, hands on his hips. You closed your eyes, trying not to burst into tears like a child throwing a tantrum on the spot. You nodded, whispered a ‘yes, sir’ in a clogged voice, and waited until he dismissed you to walk out of the room. 

You sat down by your bag with a sigh, arms slung over your knees as you cradled the water bottle close and pressed your face to it. You closed your eyes and allowed your head to dip down as some of your friends came to sit around you, offering pats of sympathy and words of comfort. You tried to smile, nodded in thanks, but you just wanted to curl up into a ball and never get back up. 

The next few hours were spent going through each section of the dance. You felt lucky that you didn’t get to the Ram piece, you were sure you couldn’t hold it together long enough for that, only to be doused with cold water at the thought that you needed to stay longer afterward. 

When rehearsal was over, Mr Murphy dismissed everyone right on the dot. He didn’t acknowledge you as the girls started leaving, the chatter slowly beginning to rise as they reached the door. For a moment you wondered if you could get away with leaving with everyone else, but just as you reached the door he called out “ten minutes at most, Ms Y/L/N, then I want you back in here.” Your bones seemed to disappear and you thought you would collapse to the floor in a heap of mushy flesh. Instead you nodded and wobbled your way outside to chug what was left of your water bottle, refill it, then chug the contents again as tears of exhaustion slipped from the corners of your eyes and mingled with the sweat dampening the hair by your temples and ears. 

The ten minutes were up far too quickly and you stood with a groan, heading to the door once more. You gazed at the room from the door, the light hardwood floors, the wall of mirrors and the bar spanning the length of the room, the huge windows letting in swaths of natural light. You often forgot how beautiful the space was. 

You walked slowly to where Mr Murphy stood, typing something on his phone and moving the speaker to face the room again. You stood before him, hands clasped and eyes downcast, waiting for instructions. For a while, he didn’t say anything. He was no longer on his phone, his hands hanging by his sides, and he stared at you. Every few seconds you glanced, trying to glimpse what was going to happen, but he just continued watching you, stoic as ever. 

You could never tell what he was thinking. Never once had you been able to guess at his thought process, to figure out what was going on in his head. Maybe that was one of the reasons he intimidated you so much. 

He walked closer, so close the toes of his shoes almost touched the toes of yours and you gulped, staring at the contrast, the black and the pink, the background of wood. His hand came up and he tapped up under your chin with the side of his index finger, waiting for you to lift your head. When you did, your entire face felt hot under the skin. He was so close, you could see the freckles splashed on his skin, the careful set of his cheekbones and jaw. You gulped. His eyes were so much more terrifying up close. 

“You’ve been given a gift,” he began, slow and firm, “your ability, your natural rhythm, that is a gift. Unless you put in effort to finetune this gift, it goes to waste. Do you understand what I’m saying?” You nodded but he shook his head once. “Speak.” 

“Yes sir,” you breathed out quickly, gulping when your mouth was closed again. 

“I’m not sure you do, though,” and it felt like the hammer falling. His eyes seemed to harden a little, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “The past two weeks all I have seen is a sloppy, unprincipled, uncommitted dancer who deems merely showing up a success.” Each word was a stab to some part of you, and it took everything not to wilt completely to the floor. “You have been given one of the more difficult roles in the performance, and I once believed you deserved it. For the life of me, I cannot remember why.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you closed your eyes, throat bobbing as the despair that felt inevitable finally began to land. 

He went silent, and that felt worse somehow. The backs of your eyelids began to burn and you clenched your hands tighter around each other, hoping the little pain it brought would distract from the tears. You berated yourself in your head. You yelled in your mind that this was a pathetic display, that it would be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done if you began to cry in front of him. He would think less of you, it would only confirm what he believed; you were weak. When you opened your eyes again, one traitorous tear slipped out and down your cheek. You could feel the hot, ticklish track it made down the skin. If you didn’t know better, you thought you saw Mr Murphy’s eyes soften. 

He breathed out, long and tired, and reached up to gently wipe the tear away with his thumb. Your breath caught in your throat. His hand was warm. Your chest felt tight. His skin was soft. You stared into his eyes. He left the side of his hand against your face, as if allowing himself to feel the skin. Something in your stomach writhed impatiently. Everything seemed to have changed within a second. Some deep seated urge whispered in your ear to open your mouth and lick his thumb. You shivered. 

“Turn around,” his voice was low, rough, and you almost moaned at the sound. You gulped again, but obeyed almost instantly. You heard some shuffling, and then the music started, the slow long notes interspersed with the quick little strums, a beautiful, almost joyful piece of music. Then Mr Murphy was pressed right against your back, and suddenly the music was secondary. His chest, firm, solid, was moulded to your back. You could feel the soft fabric of his black shirt, the puffs of his breaths against the back of your neck. Your entire body shivered. He was warm, like a heater on a middle setting, and if you weren’t so tense, you would melt against him. You could feel his nose against your head as he bent slightly. You could feel his lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispered “relax.” You tried, forcing your muscles to loosen like you would before a performance. 

His hands trailed down your arms, his fingertips running down your biceps, then your forearms until you shivered against him again. When he reached your wrists, he hooked his own hands under them and began raising them in time with the music. You turned your head to the right, watched his hand raise your own, your lips parted and breaths heavy. You couldn’t move past the feeling of him pressed to your back. 

You almost missed the cue to move, almost, and pulled away from him slowly, carefully, using the measured steps required by the music. You left your right hand in his, just the barest touch of your fingertips against his, the illusion of contact as you moved to the left, feet lifting high. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, and suddenly you enjoyed the feeling in a sick, scary way. You walked forward until you were in line with Mr Murphy, still an arm’s length away before he stepped forward and your arms moved to a waltz position. He settled into the space, gripping your hands firmly in his. He was pressed as close as he could be, closer than your actual partner would be for the dance, and you set your eyes on his face. Your pulse thrummed in your ears, you were in your element. 

You went through all the steps of the dance like you had been born knowing it. Your bodies were like water as they moved, smooth, graceful. You hadn’t felt this intune to the music in a long time, hadn’t felt this much like a dancer in a long time. You could almost see the crowd in front of you, the blinding lights, the smooth fabric of the dress. 

At the final step, Mr Murphy gripped your hand and spun you into him, changing the ending of the dance. You gasped as you leaned back into his chest. His head was bent down, pressing his face into your hair. You were panting, torso moving up and down quickly but trapped in the confines of his arms crossed over you. You leaned your head back a little, pressing the curve of your skull into the curve of his neck as he pressed his cheek to the side of your head. The music was fading out, and the only sounds in the room were your mingling breaths, heaving into the air of the room. 

His left palm pressed against your stomach, firm and insistent, but you couldn’t be bothered to look down. It seared into your already boiling skin and you closed your eyes. You tuned into the sensation of his hand slowly sliding down, bit by bit, inching down over your stomach then pressing against your pelvis. You gasped as you felt his fingertips brush over the leotard just at the top of your pussy. Your hand moved behind you, gripping his sides, clenching into the soft fabric of his shirt. 

He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily against the side of your head, and you didn’t stop him. His hand moved farther down, pressing against the softness atop your core. Gently, his index finger moved to the centre line and began pressing in. You lifted up on your toes a little when you felt the pressure through the fabric, the indent of his finger pressing against your clit. You were hot and wet, he could feel the heat emanating from your core against his hand.

He kept his finger pressed there until you became restless, impatient, pressing your hands a little harder against his ribs. Slowly, keeping the pressure, he moved his finger down until he was pressing against your hole. The warm tendrils of pleasure slowly undulated up your insides. He repeated the motion, up then down and pressing a little harder against your hole. 

You breathed out heavily, shakily, and bent your knees to press a little harder into the feeling. 

Up, down, press. Up, down, press. He circled your clit through the fabric, pressing against the pulsing little bud. Up, down, press, drag up, drag down, press. You were panting into the air, face contorted, mouth up and head tilted up, resting against his shoulder. Your eyes were screwed shut, hips moving to chase the motions. He didn’t say anything, just breathed heavily against your ear, held you tighter against his body. 

You were both standing in the middle of the large studio, bathed in the early evening light. Your hands clenched a little harder against his sides. The warm tendrils were lasting longer, becoming more frenzied, curling up into your stomach and making your hole flutter. His right hand moved up and cupped your breast, gripping firmly and burning the heat of his hand into the flesh. 

You were engulfed by him, wrapped up in both his arms as he pressed his fingers harder and quicker against the seam of your core, moving up and down, pressing and releasing. He ran the edge of his thumbnail against the fabric over your nipple and your pelvis shook. You writhed in his arms at the spark it shot to your core, at the electric pulse it created and ultimately pushed you over the precipice. A moan, a high-pitched whine shot from your mouth, echoing in the room. You pressed yourself so hard against him he almost lost his balance, moving one foot back to keep the two of you upright. Your hands hurt from how stiff they became clenched into the fabric of his shirt. 

Slowly, he released the pressure against your core. He grazed his finger up until he could press his hand to your stomach again. He left it there and the two of you heaved breaths in sync. You began to flutter your eyes open, still lost in the blood rushing through your head. His right hand came up and gripped your chin, pushing it so you faced to the left where his head had dropped down. He leaned back a little, you tilted forward a smidge, your eyes met. Your lips were still parted, his mirrored. Then he surged forward, pressing his mouth to yours, his nose sliding into the crease between your cheek and nose. He tasted warm and minty. His lips were plush and cushiony soft. He pulled away and you looked into his eyes again. 

Neither of you said a word.

Taglist: @4ria790

[scoops-aboy86]

Sssex

For the August @steddiemicrofic prompt plug! (also on ao3)

wc: 437 | rated: m | cw: monster eddie, vampire eddie, chubby eddie munson, sex, sex-related monster physiology, the word ‘mucous,’ kind of breeding kink

Look. I’m not, like, big on breeding kink. At all. Despite ending up reading a lot of it, whatever. But I looooove caretaking, and add in a dash of monster instincts and that’s kind of what we’ve got here. The caretaking part just didn’t fit within the word count is all, so… it didn’t get written. 

Anyway, if Dustin can label Dart as some sort of weird amphibian, I can decide that the demobats/Vampire Eddie have some traits in common with certain snakes, convergent evolution style.

As a vampire, Eddie is content to drink from the wrists of his friends rather than steal from the hospital. He takes less than the Red Cross would at a time and keeps a complicated rota in his head of who he’s fed from when, how much, relative to body mass and age, etc., to make absolutely sure he doesn’t end up hurting anyone. 

The only person he never turns down is Steve, who always tastes the richest (Dustin has a theory about a demobat-related third blood type factor) and seems to recover the fastest. And if Steve wants him to feed from places other than his wrists, who is Eddie to argue?

Maybe they get a little carried away. Maybe Eddie is starting to get a bit of a blood belly. But Steve is fine! Keeps asking for it, sometimes almost begging even. And then, one minute Eddie is sinking his teeth into Steve’s femoral artery, and the next he’s sinking his dick into Steve’s ass to just as much enthusiastic encouragement. 

There are some other steps in between, but none that really surprise either of them by this point. 

But the thing is, Eddie isn’t exactly a vampire, any more than demobats are exactly bats. There’s a lot about his physiology that they don’t know yet. 

So when he slips out of Steve, intending to thumb whatever drips out after him right back where something deep inside tells him it belongs, and nothing does… he just thinks, Huh.

“Um, Eds, I think you… left something.”

He’s already probing gently. “Uh-huh. Feels temporary, though.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, Steve. Some replies leave a mucous plug in there… after, y’know?” Steve makes a noise that indicates he does not know, actually, and Eddie kisses his shoulder apologetically. “I think my fucked up biology is trying to make sure you get knocked up.”

They both pause for a moment, and then suddenly they’re laughing all the way down to their toes, Eddie still half sprawled over Steve’s back. 

“Think I’ll have… fuck what’s the word for double triplets?” Steve wheezes in between gusts of laughter. 

“Sextuplets,” Eddie supplies, and that sets them off even more because it’s got the word sex in it. Because they fucked for the first time and now Steve has a plug in his ass that’ll either dissipate naturally or be the cause of a truly awkward hospital visit, and this is just… what normal is like now. 

Then Eddie’s stomach rumbles, and Steve’s head automatically tips to bare his neck, and with a breathless kiss Eddie sinks in all over again.

Permanent tag list (ask to be added): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @whimsicalwadewinstonwilson @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls

[sinsinsininning]

Maybe a fluffy Eustass Kid x reader where reader is also missing a limb? Idk I just think it’d be cute for them to take care of each others shared struggles😭 ((fantom pain, still being able to feel their limb, etc))

Awww that’s kinda sweet!

Ok upon reflection I realized that this came out more angsty than intended but it’s fluffy to me 😢

I showed this to a mutual and they said “that’s so sad” and I had no clue I was like what 😀?

I hope you like this

TW: vague body horror, amputations, panic attacks, drinking, crying

—————

“Stop crying,” Kid pinches your ear lightly, no real malice in it. “People will notice. You don’t want that yeah?” He’s right, you don’t want that not here in this dingy bar, but you can’t stop the shaky breathes you take as you try to will the tears away.

“It hurts.” You gasp out finally, you’re not sure how he hears you despite being tucked away from most of the noise. “It hurts and it shouldn’t.” You feel like your leg is on fire, the leg you’d lost not so long ago, the stitches finally gone but your mind rejected that memory.

Kid doesn’t say anything, his gaze sweeps over the crowd as you shiver and whine quietly beside him. Finally he jumps up, yanking you with him. If anyone notices you tucked awkwardly under his arm they don’t speak up, your face is obscured by his luscious coat. You felt the cold night air before you realize you’re outside now, he doesn’t set you down as he heads for the ship.

You grasp his shirt and shudder hard again as he veers off from the path, going towards the sand and water instead the docks. The burning, tingly feeling in your not leg keeps you from asking him anything. Finally he stops, without setting you down he manhandles you in front of him, at any other time you’d be dizzy at the sight of his one hand easily holding you up, but not tonight. Kid yanks your false leg off with his own metal arm, the sensation of the wire nerve connectors separating was unpleasant but not painful. It gives you a weird respite from the burning and you’re able to squeak out a ‘what’.

“Keep still, gonna make it turn off.” He grunts and steps closer to the water, you can feel the ocean licking at your one set of toes as you whine and try to squirm away. He glares at you and dunks your legs into the water.

You shriek, both in surprise and discomfort, the water is cold and soaks through your sock and shoe, he shoves you until the water covers your amputation site. It’s jarring and uncomfortable, but the burning you felt slowly fades away as you’re overwhelmed but the cold. You claw at his arms futilely, knowing he’d let you up when he was done, whenever that is.

After several uncomfortable hours minutes, Kid finally pulls you out. You cling to him as he carries you back up the shore, grabbing your prosthetic leg as he goes. You don’t want to cry, not again, in front of him again, but the tears returns regardless.

It’s different this time, it’s relief, beholden, as if your gratitude is melting from your eyes. You want to thank him, but it’s useless, he’d never accept it. His duties as a captain, as your captain, are vast and unknowable. So you hiccup into his neck as he takes you onto the ship, to his- your- room.

He doesn’t coddle you as he finally sets you down, resting you gently on the edge of the bed. You slump into the blankets, exhausted and dizzy. Kid eyes watch you for a moment, like he can’t quite decide what to do with you, finally he moves about the room, oddly quiet as he puts things away for the night.

“Sorry, Boss.” Your voice is hoarse as you speak your first real words since the bar.

“Shuddup.” He says quickly, but there’s no bite, not after all this time. You watch as he takes his coat off, it takes effort to keep your head lifted but you want to watch him. You always do.

His belt is off next, as is his shirt, he doesn’t comment on your staring. He’s probably used to your starry eyes on him doing the most benign tasks. His metal arm is next, his face is tight when he disconnects is, but he doesn’t make a noise, setting to gently next to your leg.

“Do you feel them too?” You ask quietly, it’s maybe the most personal thing you’ve ever asked him. Neither of you pry, everything you know about each other is offered.

“Not much anymore.” He says, your not shocked at his answer, just that he gave it up so easily. Even mundane questions turn into a battle of shouts with him. “It goes away with time, I think.” He says with finality, yanking his boots off next.

You think it’s sweet he’s trying to console you.

“I think it’s cause my captain is so tough.” You say as sweetly as you can manage, head finally lolling back against the blankets. He likes when you say that, my captain, something you save for moments when he won’t let you say everything you feel.

Kid crashes in the bed next to you, which causes you to squeak and swat at him. He laughs and yanks you up the bed to rest properly again the pillows, it feels wonderful but you still try to sit up.

“I should shower.” You say struggling to roll out of his grip.

“Nah, morning will do.” He yanks you back to him.

“I stink.”

“No you don’t and even if you did I don’t fucking care.”

“I should at least change.” You relent, but he still rolls his eyes.

You try to sit up again, but he just pulls you closer to disrobe you, fighting your squirms and attempts at self reliance. Finally your clothes and shoe are off and he’s tugging the many blankets over you bodies. You burrow into his side, he’s warm and loose, moments like these make breathing easier for you.

“Thank you.” You’re pushing your luck with him tonight, but you can’t help but milk the moment a little more.

“Told ya to zip it.” His voice is a rumble against your cheek and you smile, he could probably feel it too. “I’m always gonna take care of ya, but you gotta keep it down. I gotta reputation to keep.”

You sigh and hum at him, digging further into his hold, his shoulder warms your cold nose as you drift off.

[beeffilledshark]

While I’m very happy at wfm’s success and how it’s drawn so many people into Gundam (me included), it’s so upsetting we have to do this song and dance and explain how to “interpret” the explicit narrative that Sulemio is a real romance despite “them never kissing or saying I love you.” The whole fucking point of Gundam and the Newtype story is “understanding each other without misconception,” and while Witches aren’t able to really do that the same way Newtypes are, the core story of Suletta is getting people to truly understand her.

Sulemio’s resolution is Miorine finally “understanding“ that Suletta WANTS to save her family and Miorine revealing her “ugly” and disheveled self she’s hidden from everyone, only getting a taste of it when she invited Suletta to her room in ep 4. Suletta “understands” her mother and Aerial’s betrayal after Quinnharbor and that they do love her, just that they think she’ll be fine separated from them and to not involve her in their machinations. Chuchu’s entire arc is the perfect example of this theme: she goes from violently hating Spacians and picking fights with them on a regular basis to basically becoming Suletta’s older sister and rescuing hundreds of Spacian students and providing food and aid to them. The tragedy of Norea and El5n is amplified by this theme since only El5n could possibly “understand” Norea’s agony and existential anguish in considering herself a living casualty of war as a Gundam pilot. What’s made worse is she “understands” El5n empathizes with her and truly cares for her moments before being killed by Cathedra after her rampage. Hell, the Space Magic solution of Gwitch is a direct reference to Unicorn where the Gundams project the love interest's voice throughout the Earth Sphere so that they can communicate directly with the common person.

If you’ve watched Unicorn as many times as I have, you know they drill this fucking theme into your head every chance you give them but similarly to gwitch, there’s no kiss scene or “I love you” scene. Gundam, and Sunrise in general, has a long-standing tradition of demonstrating the primary romance through the dialogue and actions of the characters. I have never seen anyone question if Audrey and Banagher are in a relationship despite them never having any kind of kiss scene or a scene where they utter “I love you.” Of course, they were kind of meant to parallel Amuro and Sayla, but the dynamic between Suletta and Miorine are almost identical: Gundam pilot who has to protect the Princess from scheming enemies on both the enemy and their side.

The point of this post is that you have to be able to possess an ounce of media literacy in order to understand the sheer plot and character interactions of most popular Gundam media. Now that a lot more people are interested in picking up this franchise, I’m BEGGING you to really think about these shows and movies beyond the mech fights. Every Gundam series has something you can pick apart and the first step in analyzing that is to understand some of the core ideas of Gundam. We don’t kiss here. We’re too high brow to have that so we have characters say shit like “promise you’ll come with me to Earth,” since it means Miorine intends to incorporate Suletta into her future and in her desires or calling the Princess of Zeon Audrey despite her government name being Mineva. Though it may have been forceful, Banagher understood what Mineva wanted and vocalized that by referring to her as her cover name until the end of the OVA.

I do also want to add, this theme is why the Blowjob Brothers exist in nearly every incarnation of Gundam ever. Once you learn how to interpret characters' actions and how they demonstrate love, you'll understand why the fandom has so many gay ships with varying degrees of "authenticity" or canon-ness. The difference with Suletta and Miorine is that it's unabashedly explicit and the focus of Gwitch.

Anyways, any fellow Gwitch enthusiasts who are dipping their toes into 0079 or IBO or any other property as their second Gundam experience, please understand that a LOT of narrative devices and characters are direct references or homages to the past and trying to catch up on it all is like trying to integrate yourself into a religion you converted into. There's a lot of unwritten practices and beliefs that you have to learn and teach yourself, especially since there's psychos out there in the fandom.

(this entire post was spurred on by a dipshit twitter user arguing Sulemio wasn't the goal of gwitch and they changed it mid-hiatus to appeal to the wokes asdfklafd;ljkasf. Anyways Chamuro is real and gundam loves doing polycules this is unironically true)

[juancarlos-ortiz]

Marked for Carnage - Chapter 1 (Juice Ortiz x OC Fic)

Marked for Carnage Masterlist

A/N: This is chapter 1 of my Juice Ortiz x OC multi chapter fanfic. I am hoping to mesh this story line with all 7 seasons of SOA. This is an 18+ fic so if you are under 18 please do not interact or read. The themes may not hit 18+ for a few chapters but I intend them to as the story progresses. I apologize that there isn't much Juice x OC in this chapter, I was really wanting to set a foundation for my OC and how she is tied into this world. My asks are open if anyone has any questions about my OC. Also I aplogise if there are any errors, I have a toddler and a baby so I'm doing this on the fly. I hope you enjoy :)

Word Count: 2390 words

If there was one thing that Veronica Winston wished for it was that she had taken the job offer from Mercy General rather than St Thomas. Sacramento was close enough to Charming without being too close, but - being the push over that she was - she had let her father talk her into moving home. "Nothing's more important than family," he had stated, using her brother's recent release from prison to really drive the point home. Now here she was, stalking the hallways of St Thomas Hospital, the scent of antiseptic flooding her nose, as she followed the directions given to her by the admin staff to the nearest elevator. She had just about ran from the desk when the lady behind it asked if she was related to "those Winston's."

She pulled her long, dark hair out from the ponytail she'd put it in, hoping it would provide some kind of barrier between her and anyone who may recognize her. It had been nearly 10 years since she had last stepped foot in Charming. Her stomach had been lead weight since she had driven past the welcome sign at the edge of town. She jabbed the elevator button as she stopped in front of the closed doors, tapping her foot impatiently. She quickly scanned the area behind her, regretting the action as soon as her eyes met his. Jax Teller. Quickly she looked away and hoped that he hadn’t seen her.

"Ronnie?" She sighed when he called her name. Shoving her phone into the pocket of her scrubs she turned and smiled at him. "Hey Jax," she sent a silent prayer to the elevator gods that the stupid thing would hurry up and arrive. "Jesus, how long has it been?" he asked, pulling her into a quick one armed hug. "Nearly 10 years," she shrugged, kicking the toe of her shoe on the linoleum. "Yeah I guess so… your Pops didn’t say anything about you being back in town?" he asked, adjusting his cut. Her eyes found the Vice President patch sewn there. She raised her eyebrows. "I ah… asked him not to tell anyone. Ope too." Jax cocked an eyebrow and angled his head in question. "Alright…" he murmured. "I'll keep this under wraps then." Ronnie smiled appreciatively.

 "You visiting someone?" she asked. His face dropped and suddenly she regretted asking him. "My kid is up in the NICU. He had surgery last night." Ronnie sighed and shook her head. "Shit Jax, I hope everything's ok." He shrugged and glanced down the hallway. "He's looking ok. Strong little guy. Shit with Wendy ya know…" he shrugged. "Damn, she still not got her shit together?" she asked. Jax shook his head. "Well he is a Teller. I'm sure he will pull through." Jax grinned proudly and nodded. "Well, you should come by Gemma's place sometime. She's still in the same house. I'm sure she would love to see you," Jax began to make his way down the hallway, throwing a wave behind him as he left. "Yeah, sure," Ronnie mumbled half heartedly. The elevator doors finally opened and Ronnie got in, pressing the button for the bottom floor. She found the doors she was looking for, the sign above indicating that she had reached the morgue. Of course, it would be strange to admit that she felt at home in a morgue. Which is why she never said it out loud. But it was true. Pulling her hair back into it's ponytail she walked through the doors, ready for a fresh start.

10 hours later Ronnie stood in the parking lot, stretching her back as the balmy early evening air settled around her. It appeared that being an assistant medical examiner in Charming wasn't going to be as fast paced as her previous location. She had spent part of her morning reviewing the one case they currently had open - a hit and run that had happened in the Charming jurisdiction although only by literal centimetres - and then the rest of her time she archived historical paperwork and counted down the minutes until her scheduled breaks. Ronnie groaned at the pain in her back, cursing herself for sitting with shitty posture for her whole shift, when suddenly someone cleared their throat. She turned and spotted the row of Harley's parked against the curb.

A guy around her age, with golden brown skin and a mohawk with two tattoos inked either side of it, sat on the bike at the very end. He was sporting one of the most gorgeous smiles she had ever seen and he was directing it at her. Ronnie's stomach buzzed, but she told it to pipe down when she spotted the cut she was wearing - one with a patch identical to her brother and fathers. She looked around in case he was looking at someone else, but they were the only two souls in the lot. "Nice ink," he said, jutting his chin in her direction. She looked down at her right arm, as if noticing the various designs tattooed there for the first time. Feeling her face warming, she met his stare. "Thanks, you too," she murmured, before walking to her car and hastily getting behind the wheel. Putting the key in the ignition she started it up, cursing and looking back at the man on the bike in her mirror as the engine coughed and sputtered before starting up. Pulling out of the lot, Ronnie began her journey home.

Juice smirked as he watched the black Toyota SUV pull out of the hospital parking lot. He had never seen the woman who had driven it away before, but the fullness of her hips and the soft curving of her waist had him wanting to see more of her. Juice would admit that it didn't take much to rev his engine but the way she had raised her eyebrow at him in indifference, how her tattoos covered the soft looking skin of her arm and the groan she let out as she stretched her back… almost had him adjusting himself in his pants. "Hey idiot," Tig smacked him up the back of the head. "What's got you so goddam happy?" Juice only grinned and shook his head. "Just thinkin' about Sack and that deer." Tig laughed and pointed straight at him. "Bet you're glad you're not the bottom of the food chain no more, huh?" Juice nodded as he watched the rest of his brothers exit the hospital, strapping his helmet on and starting up his dyna.

Ronnie sat on the small sofa in her loungeroom, an open beer on the coffee table and a microwaved dinner on her lap. She aimlessly flicked through channels, stopping briefly on the local news channel when she saw the headlines "San Leandro Warehouse Fire, Multiple Deaths." "Jesus Christ," she mumbled, taking a sip of beer. Suddenly, her phone ringing pulled her attention from the tv. Flicking it open, she saw her father's landline number and answered. "Hey Pop," she smiled. "Hey sweetheart," her father's rough timber came through the receiver. "How was your first day?" Ronnie smiled. She had missed this. Her father only really called once every couple of months when she had been gone from Charming, and she was certainly guilty of avoiding calling him. But since being back he seemed to really be interested in what was happening in her life.

"It was good dad, same shit different state really." Piney laughed. "Well that's good to hear, Ron, good to hear." She rolled her eyes at the nickname. "Listen, I was going to head over to Opie and Donna's place for dinner. Why don’t you come too? See the kids and say hello," Piney trailed off, leaving the buzz of the phone line ringing in Ronnie's ears. "I don’t know dad, I mean… I've already had dinner and," she paused, blowing out a sigh. "I don’t think Ope would want me there." Her father grunted on the other end, no doubt rolling his eyes identically to the way she had moments beforehand. "He's your brother. Of course he wants you there," he said. Ronnie closed her eyes. "Alright, I'll come see them. Do you need a ride?"

Ronnie pulled up out the front of her brothers house, parking her car next to Piney's trike. She made her way up the path to the front door, wringing her hands together in anxiety. She tersely rapped her knuckles against the door, her stomach in knots. Donna pulled the door open, her eyes widening at the site of her sister-in-law. "Veronica!" she exclaimed, glancing back into the house. "I didn’t know you were coming," Donna said, awkwardly smiling. "Oh, shit sorry, I thought dad might have said something. He kind of… invited me I guess," Ronnie said. Trust Piney to not say shit. "It's fine," Donna stepped aside, motioning for Ronnie to enter. "Come in. I've just served dinner, are you hungry?" Ronnie shook her head as she entered the house. "Nah I already ate. Thanks though." She continued to blindly follow the hallway, hoping she was going the right way.

The hall opened up into the dining room and Veronica stopped short as she saw Piney, Opie and her niece and nephew, Ellie and Kenny, sitting at the table with plates in front of them. "Hey," Ronnie cleared her throat. "Hey Ope. Hi Ellie, Kenny." She waved at the kids. They awkwardly waved back, glancing at their dad. Opie dropped his fork, making Ronnie and the kids jump as it clattered against his plate. "Ope?!" Donna started from behind Ronnie. "Not hungry," he grunted out before he made his way out the back door into the backyard, slamming the door behind him. The silence in the room was deafening as Ronnie internally fought with what she should do next. She smiled at the kids again before she followed her brother through the door. Opie sat on a porch swing that was in the back corner of the backyard, a lit cigarette between his lips.

Ronnie made her way over to him, her black boots scuffing along the short patched of turf and dirt. "Those things will kill ya, you know," she motioned to his cigarette. Opie ignored her, taking a long drag. "Look, Ope…" she began, pushing her hands into her pockets. "I know you’re not my biggest fan right n-" "You really think you can just come back like you didn’t just drop off the face of the earth for 10 years?" he cut her off. Ronnie sighed, running her hand over her hair, gathering it over one shoulder. "Dropping off the face of the earth is slightly dramatic, don’t ya think?" Opie met her eyes, his mouth a hard line. "Dad was already sick before you left and you just disappearing only made him worse. You missed my wedding!" he took a another draw of his cigarette. "My kids hardly even know their Aunt…" he laughed without humour and shook his head. "And you just walk in and say hi? You really think that would be it?"

Ronnie sighed and sat next to her brother on the porch swing. "I'm… I'm sorry Ope. I couldn't stay," she cracked her knuckles, habit her mother always scolded her for when she was little. "I honestly didn’t realise I'd hurt you this bad." Opie shook his head, knocking his knee against Ronnie's. "You're my baby sister," he mumbled. "We already had so much time apart after mom and dad divorced. It felt like I had gotten you back for a little while and then you just took off." Ronnie's heart sank. She never gave her brother much credit for just how much he loved his family - although he didn’t always show it. "Shit Ope. You know I didn't do it to hurt you. I had to get away. Away from," she swallowed thickly, her skin crawling. "Him." Opie scoffed. "You know we wouldn’t have let him put his hands on you. Me, Pops. Shit even Jax would put a bullet in his head before he let you get hurt."

Ronnie shook her head. "But he did put his hands on me Ope. Distance," she sighed. "Distance felt like the best option. And this place. This town," she motioned with her hand. "Everywhere I went it felt like him. Felt like he had tainted it somehow. Even being back now," she shivered, running her hands up and down her arms. "I'm sick to my stomach Ope. He could pop up anywhere." Opie turned to his sister, his stare cutting her off. "You see one glimpse of him, you tell me. I won't let that shit stain near you." Ronnie smiled flatly, patting Opie's back and standing. "Yeah yeah, I'll put you on speed dial," she smiled. Opie huffed a laugh and stood.  Ronnie smiled and pulled him into a brief hug. "Still not okay with you going ghost," he said. She nodded, pulling away. "I know. But I'm here now. And I'm gonna make up for these last 10 years."

Ronnie walked arm in arm with her father to where their vehicles were parked. "Well after your brothers tantrum, that all seemed to go okay," Piney said, leaning over to kiss his daughter on the head. "Yeah Pops, you know Ope. He's soft at heart. Won’t be long and I'll be back in his good books," she smiled, watching Piney climb aboard his trike. "You working tomorrow sweetheart?" he asked, buckling his helmet on. She nodded, unlocking her SUV. "Yeah I'm always working." Piney smiled, his old heart warming knowing there was no longer distance between him and his two kids. "Alright, I'll follow you home. Make sure you get there safe." Ronnie began to protest and then remembered her conversation with her brother. "That would be great, thanks Pop." She slid into the drivers seat of her car and tried to start the engine. The car coughed and chugged once before it conked out completely. "Piece of shit," she slammed her hands against the wheel. Piney lifted his arms in a questioning manner. She jumped out. "Car won’t start." Piney motioned back to Opie's house. "Get your brother to drive you home, I'll get someone from TM to come tow your car to the garage tomorrow." Ronnie sighed and bid her father farewell before she made her way back up the path towards Opie's house.

[peachyteabuck]

i’m out of my head when you’re not around

summary: shiv has a lot of secrets. you happen to be one of them

a commission for @cherrysweetdevine​

pairing: shiv roy x reader

words: 2366

content warnings: mentions of whorephobia (reader is a stripper), survival sex work, vaginal fingering, car sex, angst, they love each other but they Can’t Be Together, fingers in mouth, orgasm control/denial, D/s dynamics, “mommy” pet name used

Shiv is not a woman who likes to have weaknesses. She covers her tracks wherever she makes them. She has shell companies for her shell companies, and then shell companies for those, too. She’s got lawyers heartless and well-paid enough to defend her. She’s got corporate spies, and government ties, and both fear her.

Somehow, though, you’ve weaseled your way into a certain spot in her chest that pangs when she’s far away from you for too long. It’s not as though she can text, email, or call—all of which are discoverable in the event of an unfortunate legal situation. No, she has to go in person, has to speak in a subtle code, and hope you understand. She has to leave her phone in the car, contacting her driver with a different burner each time. She’s careful, practiced, and precise.

Especially when she sneaks out to see you during work hours. She’d deny it if anyone asked—not that they were dumb enough to think they could ask her such a question. What Shiv does off company property is no one’s business but her own, and she intends to keep it that way.  

Entering the facility, she refuses a coat check (she knows from you the person running it tonight has sticky fingers, and a penchant for mixing up tags) and slides into one of the velvet-lined semi-circle couches in the darkest corner of the club. It’s far from the stage, the usual clientele leaving the seat vacant for that reason. Not many people are here—probably because she decided to come after the dinner rush. A smart move, considering how much she hates being overcrowded. It’s stifling, to be around many people—especially when all of those people are old, sweaty men.

She’s not here to throw cash, though, she’s here to see you.

And you, she notices, have just stepped onto the floor. Not only that, but you’re wearing the dress she bought you recently.

The white dress, dripping in hand-beaded, translucent crystal fringe, hugs your figure. The crystals move as you do, dancing as if they’re the ones on stage. Each one shines in the light, licking at your skin like flames onto wood. You don’t let it subsume you, though. No one else could wear that dress like you are right now. No one has the presence powerful enough to rival the crystals, or the V-shaped hem, or the deep neckline. The shoes, the ones she also bought you, are the same white as the dress. The toe strap has just enough crystals to call attention to them were you to be upside down, the ankle strap and thick heel bare.

The most important facet of your attire, though, is that Shiv had it custom-made for you and had it delivered to your apartment on the Upper West Side. She saw it on a model during fashion week, touting the gaudy, too-short dress with an atrocious pair of heels and a walk that reminded her of tripod dog that just woke up from a deep nap.

Shiv saw something though, behind the horrid styling and wretched model. She saw a chance, which she immediately took to prove that she hadn’t forgotten about you despite months of no contact.

If Shiv were anyone else, she would’ve grabbed you already—gave you a giant diamond ring and an outrageously expensive wedding and swept you to some cottage in the countryside where she’d make love to you as if she was trying to produce an heir.

But she’s herself, and you’re you, and so she finds herself here: in this high-end strip club-slash-sex dungeon, watching you from afar like a hunter in the brush. At least for them, though, they have the pleasure of taking their kills home.

No, she just saw a five-figure price tag and filled out the check. What can she say, she likes things that are expensive. She anything as long as it has a big enough price tag. The powerbroker inherited an unfortunate number of traits from Logan—her hairline, how she likes her coffee in the morning, the way she expresses love in the same way the average general speaks to their soldiers. This, though, seems to get her into the most trouble. Particularly, the most trouble with you.

One of the other girls offers her a menu as she sits down, one she turns down. She knows what she wants, ordering a bottle for herself and a single cocktail for you.

It’s not long before you find her, sitting to her right. Right after, the sever brings her order and leaves without saying anything else. She’s seen you and her together before, she knows she won’t be needed until it’s time to pay the tab.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say, no hint of irony in your voice. Shiv likes that about you, how dry you are. No lube before the fucking, just how Shiv likes it.

She takes a long drink from her glass, savoring the rich taste for a moment before speaking. “I could say the same to you as well.”

“Still with your husband?” you ask, sipping on the virgin sex on the beach. Shiv could convince you to do quite a lot—but you’d never drink on the job, and you don’t intend to start now. Even for the beautiful woman with a bottomless wallet and a toy collection that would put the pro-dominatrixes who work in the club to shame, you’ve got to keep a clear head and not break house rules. It’s kept you alive this long, and you’re not one for breaking tradition.

Shiv respects that, popping the cork and pouring herself a glass of 2007 Sassicaia. She’s the only woman you had ever met who drinks red wine at a strip club, but you admire her commitment to avoiding champagne and vodka.

“By all legal accounts,” is all Shiv says in return. A divorce is costly, even with the prenup, and could make her appearance to shareholders worse. She’s tough, and a good CEO, but the bastards are always looking for a way to undermine her. Still, she and Tom haven’t slept in the same bed in years, now, their legal addresses are the same only in case someone were to ask. They haven’t spoken to each other about anything except business in even longer, their conversations about times when they need to be seen together going through their assistants.

Shiv Roy maintains a steeled image, and she can’t give that up for anyone—even you.

You know it, too; your profession acts as a piece of bulletproof glass, separating you for eternity.

This job may not have been your first choice. In fact, it was a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from getting evicted. Your mom may not know what you do, your career a shameful red A on your personhood. You lie to anyone who asks, dodging questions from landlords and lenders and your financial advisor.

But it had paid for your niece to go to nursing school. It had kept your sister out of collections when she had that cancer scare. It kept a roof over both of their heads when both of them lost their jobs. It keeps you out of debt and your apartment paid off. You don’t have a lifeboat, you are a lifeboat.

Shiv can’t understand that. The silver spoon hidden artfully under her tongue still shines when the dim lights of the house floor hit it just right. You can’t be too mad at her, though. The valley it creates between you keeps you from getting too close, from falling into her clutches. She’s a customer, and, you, providing a service. A very expensive service. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. It keeps you both in your respective rigid categories, the borders shocking you every time you attempt to navigate past them.

“Meet me outside?” she asks, raking her eyes up and down your form. You shake just a bit as you break from your own line of thought, remembering the rest of the world exists. “I know your shift’s over soon.”

Shiv’s right. Even if she wasn’t, it’s not like you’d make more money showing your lace thong to the grandpas currently whistling at your coworker.

You nod, not giving her the satisfaction of a verbal reply. She just smiles, though, knowing she’s won and that there’s nothing anyone can do about it. There’s a certain smugness that comes from succeeding in battle, and Shiv will take it in any form she can. At least silence saves your dignity.

“One more thing,” she leans over to whisper, her lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear. “Keep the dress on.”

Back in the dressing room, you put on the biggest coat you can find, mindful of handsy customers’ bad habits regarding dancers out in the unprotected open. See a pretty woman in a short dress, and know she’s a dancer? It’s a concoction that ends in either a police report or a trip to the morgue, and you don’t have time for either. The mink and chinchilla fur blend keeps the February New York air from biting too deep into your skin, and the general public from seeing you dressed to the nines on a Tuesday night.

Confident in your half-hearted disguise as a normal civilian, you somehow find the courage to leave.

The dancers all have a special exit, patrolled by two security guards who are big as houses. They’re Russian, covered in tattoos, and wear earpieces you’ve never seen them talk into. They have, however, made sure no one who isn’t a dancer gets into the dressing rooms and kept every creepy customer from harassing leaving girls. In your book, that’s all you need to know that they’ll keep you safe.

You can feel their eyes following you as you step into Shiv’s car, the driver opening the door for you before walking back to his place in the front. Shiv’s already there, working on a tablet you’re sure is on airplane mode. She doesn’t look up to greet you until the car has already begun driving, and even then all she does is press a button on the central console.

You watch as the soundproof partition rolls up, the driver’s blank face staring straight ahead as you watch him disappear behind the black divider. Only then does Shiv turn to you, leaning forward to press your foreheads together.

Her perfectly manicured nails—painted in a deep purple that contrasts her pale skin—trace up your leg. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

In the safety of the car, you let your guard down. Your thighs open slowly, carefully, making room for her between them. But she doesn’t go that far, instead tracing up your navel before cradling your cheek. “And I know you’ve missed me, too.”

All you can do is flick your eyes between looking at her hand, and looking into her eyes.

“C’mon, open up, darling,” she coos, her index and middle finger rubbing over your plump bottom lip. Your lipstick, a matte nude meant to keep all the attention on your dress, doesn’t come off on her fingers just yet. For that, you’re grateful.

You hesitate for a moment, looking from her soft hands to her relaxed face. Shiv pouts, her calm demeanor giving way to a faux-niceness that has your center aching.

“Baby, don’t be like this,” she tuts, moving her hand so her thumb ever-so-subtly pulls your lips apart. “Let Mommy have some fun before we get home, won’t you?”

You nod ever so slightly, swallowing in a weak attempt to build your own courage back up. “Yes, Mommy. I’m sorry.”

She smiles as you open your mouth, welcoming the intrusion.

“Such a good girl for me,” she coos, her fingers rubbing circles onto your tongue before thrusting to the back of your throat. You can feel bits of drool fall down your chin between your thighs and pooling on the seat. It’s not the worst thing these seats have seen, at least not from you. And yet here, now, as Shiv balances her other hand behind you, as her wedding ring glints against the bright billboards of the city…

You gag around her fingers, the sudden drop in your ability to retrieve oxygen causing you to jerk.

“Shh pretty thing,” Shiv whispers, moving to rub at the tip of your tongue again. It gives you a chance to breathe, even as your jaw aches and your desperation grows. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

You can barely hear her over the ringing in your ears, your heart a racehorse in your chest. Your body slumps against the seats as you try to steady your breathing, but the last thread of your self-control snaps as you feel her tease at the thin fabric covering your weeping pussy. She doesn’t take them off, merely pushes them to the side.

“Fuck,” your voice is barely above a whisper, breathy and wonton. Her movements are confident and practiced as she gathers your wetness, circling it around your neglected clit. You buck into her hand, your hips moving on their own accord. No one else can touch you as she can, no one can elicit the same animalistic moans as her middle and index finger curling inside of you while her thumb rubs at your clit.

It’s good, it’s so fucking good, and all too soon you’re muffling your moans by biting into your hand as your other hand digs into her arm. Just a few more presses, just a few more twists until you-

Shiv laughs as she pulls away, watching as your face contorts and you cry out choked sobs.  

“Nuh-uh, baby,” she smiles as you whine, kicking your feet and pleading quietly. “Gotta make sure you have a reason to come home with me.”

It’s only then that you realize the car has stopped, and Shiv is moving your dress down and coat to cover your body. You follow her, stumbling along as she leads you. Still, in your frenzied state, you know you’d trust her to lead you safely anywhere.

[il3x]

this picrew CAPTIVATED me and I *had* to do them. 99% sure someone else has done them in this picrew before but oh well. If anyone who has is reading this heyyy! 🤗 no stepping on toes intended and also you have amazing picrew taste

important thing to me is that aisha gets to have Both the stimmy hands And the middle finger. she does it more than alec I can guarantee you

moderately obsessed with all the potential aisha variants so here are some more :3

[girlfromthecrypt]

Can I write romance even though I hate romance?

Sooo I wanna write romance subplots. I already do; I put them into a lot of my stories. The strange thing is that I cannot stand to read romance in any other story/book. I don’t know why. I always felt very uncomfortable reading romances. Not only did I feel vaguely voyeuristic whenever two characters would get intimate, I also never really… liked any of the personalities presented.

The following is just my opinion, and perhaps very specific. I don’t intend to step on any toes. I’ll keep this as generalized as possible.

So the popular romances I came into contact with almost always seemed to run by a certain formula. There’d be a girl, and a guy. The girl would be… a blank slate, basically. She’d perceive herself as bland and unremarkable, but actually be very conventionally attractive according to descriptions. These main characters were disappointingly uninteresting. The things that were special about them didn’t seem special. Just so lifeless.

I genuinely don’t believe that my writing is superior or anything. I don’t want to seem haughty by saying any of this. 

Then of course, there’d be a guy. And it’s the guys I’d find particularly tiring. They were always… perfectly handsome, but in a very dull way. I can’t remember ever reading about a guy whose physical description piqued my interest. And of course the writer would go on and on about the guy’s eyes, it was always the eyes, the eyes, the eyes, the eyes. In real life, the eyes aren’t exactly the part I’m most fascinated by. I mean, there’s a lot to be said about GAZES and GLANCES and all that stuff, but I just got so bored of them. The guys’ personalities themselves never struck me as appealing either. At the very least, they’d be mildly threatening. If not downright obnoxious.

I always took issue with the way the romance would go, too. There’d be the typical drama, the possessiveness, the wax poetic, a lot of romanticized borderline assault—what these books described as passion I would perceive as an invasion of personal space.

Now here’s the thing. I want to write romance plots/subplots, but as you can see, I’m a horrible, horrible cynic. I can’t remember a single romance book that I’ve liked. So I’m wondering, can I write romance even though I’m so repulsed by the genre? Am I simply too critical? In case anyone who reads this is familiar with some of my stories that have romantic subplots, please, from a literary standpoint… am I doing okay? Was that good for you? Did you have fun? Does this feel like I'm hitting on you?

Because I wanna, like, make characters be in love but I don’t want to make the few readers I have feel the same way I did with most romances.

And, most importantly, is there anything I’ve missed? A story that you think might bring me around to the whole topic? I’m very much open to recommendations. Even if I end up disliking the book, my shelf needs feeding.

Side note: Anyone else tend their bookshelves like they’re some kind of hungry creature? I love my shelf, and it needs feeding.

[pinkjacketorangetie]

i don’t know if you do requests right now. You have masterlist, but how do you think Lupin and Jigen would deal with falling for the same female reader who’s personality compliments them both and has not backstabbed them? Reader is chill and wouldn’t want to see them fight, but she is also hilariously oblivious there might be romantic rivalry going on.

STOP I LOVE THIS!!!! i am always happy to do requests :)) imagine is below the cut, hope you like it!!!! I may have took it in a slightly different direction than you intended so let me know what else I can do to be more true to your vision, whether that be a part two or anything else.

(sorry it took me so long to write! trauma is hard to come back from pls forgive me)

You didn't know how you got here, but all you knew now was that two dangerous men fell for you.

The jests and jeers turned into insults overtime. Lupin and Jigen stopped playfully commenting on their "rizz" (you came to regret teaching them that term) and hat, respectively, and they began to not speak to each other for days. They would avoid each other and spend their new free time trying to entice you to their corner. As you live out your days believing you were acting as a mediator, you were unwittingly the stake that drove them apart.

And now you blew it. You held your head in your hands as frustrated tears ran down your cheeks. Your unintentional ignorance caused a blow out and now no one was friends with anyone. This type of mess is inevitable when partners mixed work with pleasure, the tension boiling over at a fancy party that was supposed to be the site of a heist. The plan was ruined all because you accepted an invitation to slow dance with Lupin.

"How did I end up here?" You whispered into the dark, your feet dangling over the edge of a balcony. Your heels barely hung on to your toes, the wind picking up your dress and blowing it over your legs. How could you have been so blind?

It was all so painfully clear to see now. You felt like a ditz, and not in the cute Chrissy from "Three's Company" way, but in the way that guaranteed that the men who meant the most to you would never trust you again.

Watching you from across the room turned Jigen on and horrified him at the same time. You were so pretty when you cried, so vulnerable and gentle, just the kind of treasure he wanted to protect. He also felt like a sick bastard, because it was his reaction that made you cry. He knew he could see the top parts of your legs as your skirt flew around you, he could see the gentle curve of your ankle flow into your calf.

He blacked out with rage when he saw Lupin spin you around in his gangly arms. When he saw you giggle, smiling up at him with your doe eyes. The same doe eyes that were now filled with tears, thinking that it was all her fault. He didn't remember what he said, but he knew he hurt you. Whatever damage he did between him and Lupin would be solved within a week's time, but he knew the stakes were much higher with you.

Lupin had retreated. He left you on your own in the aftermath like the squirrelly little shit he was. If Jigen apologized to you, that had to mean something, right? He wished this decision was on his own accord and not another ploy in the contest to win you, but he didn't feel hardly as gratified as he wished.

Jigen let out a heavy, smoke-laced sigh as he took tentative steps towards you. You heard his movement stop when he reached your side, and you didn't look up at him. Instead, you kept your eyes trained on the lights from beach houses reflection off of the waves below you. You watched the pattern of the tides crashing into the sand, and in a second, you knew Jigen was, too.

That was the one good thing about this night. You had the brief comfort of knowing your intellectual connection with Jigen was still intact, albeit probably at a cost.

"You mind if I joined you?" Jigen asked, his voice hardly above a whisper but matching the rhythm of the waves.

"You still want to sit by me?" You shakily returned. You didn't dare look up at him for fear of seeing the malediction you placed in his eyes once again.

"Oh... of course I do." Jigen knelt by your side, assuming a squatting position. "None of this is your fault, you did nothing wrong."

You leaned your head on a railing, his soft voice coaxing you to turn to look at him. "I had no idea any of this was going on."

"I know. You should have known." Jigen tipped his hat up to show you his eyes, the brown in them now calming. "You deserved to know."

"Thank you," you whispered back, looking down at your hands, "I still can't help but feel like that isn't true."

Jigen hesitantly laid his hand over yours, not making any move to hold or squeeze or caress them. His hand just covered your shaky fingers. "I'm sorry for what I said to you. You're a brilliant woman, nothing about you is weak. Especially not your mind."

You let a small breath past your lips, but didn't respond.

Jigen took this as his cue to continue a true confessional. "I'm not sorry for telling you that you were my everything. You still are. Whether or not you want to be with me is up to you but I would choose you every time."

"Even now?" You squeaked out, turning one of your hands over so your palm was against his.

"Especially now." Jigen blushed as he wrapped his fingers around your hand. "That's the only thing I remember saying. That's how I know it was important."

"You called Lupin a man whore." You let out a weak, sad little giggle. It broke Jigen's heart.

"Meh... I meant it."

You looked up at Jigen and bit your bottom lip the way he thought was oh so adorable. "I never wanted you two to fight. Definitely not over me."

"We shouldn't have pulled you into this," he swept his fingers through a piece of your hair that fell behind your shoulder, "Whatever him and I have to settle is between us. You didn't make us fight, you hear? Him and I will make up in a week, that's just how we work. But you and I? That's something I would never put at risk."

"So you're not pissed?"

Jigen chuckled softly and held his arm above you, "may I?" When you gave him permission, he placed his arm around you. "Am I pissed? No, sweet girl. Never at you."

[lilspacewolfie]

Amd number two (hopefully it sends properly)

Please imagine your typical beach during summer. There's sand, water, lots of people and screaming and splashing, kids running around or building sandcastles. There's also, dunno, Mark.

Midway through a day Mark gets a neighbour next to the little patch of sand he has occupied since early morning. The neighbour is a bit... odd - it's not every day that people show up on a beach in a suit and a racoon cosplay. Or is that supposed to be a panda? They chat for a while when Mark takes a break from swimming. The neighbour has a foreign sounding name (something like Coppa or Coppia) and an accent. He also gets an explanation for the suit - turns out the neighbour's partner all but kicked him out of the stuffy office to enjoy a sunny day. Mark fully gets it - it's a perfect day to laze around and do whatever you want. Hell, this conversation is the most eventful thing to happen to him!

That is until people start screaming.

Well, not that they weren't screaming before, but it goes from playful after a dunk in the water or occasional annoyed "Stop splashing me!" to terror. And it doesn't take Mark long to understand why. He gets merely a glimpse of a gargantuan, dark shape swimming along the bottom before he, too, does his best to break the world record in a freestyle swim to the shore.

There, all hell breaks loose - people trying to get as far away from the water as possible, grabbing their towels and children, standing and filming the water or calling world-renowned paleontologists to ask how plausible it is for a plesiosaur to have survived till now. It's really more of a mosasaurus, but Mark's cousin Lily isn't here to correct them and Mark himself is a bit preoccupied trying to spot his neighbour. When he finally does, his heart stops for a moment.

Said neighbour is still floating in the water, dead to the world, with the beast circling right underneath him. (Well, circling is perhaps a bit much - an ungraceful crawl would be more appropriate, as the shallow water doesn't allow the beast to really swim.)

Mark is halfway through composing an explanation for the neighbour's partner that sounds only slightly deranged when he realises that somehow it might be unnecessary. The mosasaurus makes no move to attack or devour the floating man. Instead, it simply stands on the seabed, seemingly content that its head has become a sort of private island for the sleeper. Mark has no idea how long they have been at an impasse - he and a few other people, who have yet to run away, with eyes, phones and cameras trained on the beast, the mosasaurus itself occasionally eyeing the audience with a white orb and its passenger asleep and blissfully unaware of the bizarre circumstances - but the shadows grow longer and a slight chill appears in the air before the neighbour wakes up.

Instead of panicking, like a normal person would in such a situation, he simply pats the beast on the head and unhurriedly swims to the shore, where everyone takes a collective deep breath to start a barrage of questions, exclamations and who knows what else. However, before anyone has a chance a well-dressed man (really, what is it with people wearing suits at the beach today??) speaking a foreign language whisks the neighbour away, having already packed his bags.

The video titled "Nessie's cousin" goes viral and as soon as Copia steps through the Abbey's door he has a gaggle of kids following him and asking to pretty please let them meet the monster.

The little seaside town gets used to the monster after the 3rd visit

Titled short stories for the archive:

Anon this is hilarious and sweet 😂 it’s almost giving Good Omens’ vibes!

In my mind, this isn’t what you probably intended, but for me reading this: Hell’s beasts aren’t as bad as they seem!

Or, Lucifer just wanted to mess with humans a little bit. Keep them on their toes, you know?

OR Headcanon that all the cryptid’s of earth are just Hell beasts that have gotten loose and are evading capture 👀

[raveneira]

Could you explain how the spoilers are bad for Sarada? I'm a little lost here

Because they show Sarada in the terrible light shes always been in but never been called out on it until now which was long overdue tbh but it needed to be said, just since now there's finally a light being shined on it, there's no ignoring it anymore, so now its not just the fandom saying it but its an actual canon conflict being addressed now, not just ppl speculating that's the case, it IS the case 100% now and its a terrible look for Sarada.

As for how well just look at how it all played out and see it through Sumire's pov, not the readers.

Sumire asked Sarada how she felt about Boruto FIRST to see how she felt and Sarada told her point blank with no hesitation or sign of lying that no she isn't interested and it doesn't bother her if other girls like him.

Keyword to remember:

It doesnt bother her if other girls like him

This is what leads Sumire to feel comfortable admitting her feelings to her, because Sarada said she isn't bothered, so Sumire tells her that she does like him and that it DOES bother her, much to Sarada's surprise but at no point does Sarada ever backtrack on her statement, leaving Sumire to believe that everything she said is true, that she doesn't like Boruto and doesn't mind if other girls like him, so Sumire feels comfortable to pursue a romance with Boruto without stepping on Sarada's toes.

In this moment Sumire is considering Sarada's feelings first, she easily could've pursued Boruto without ever asking Sarada how she felt, she doesn't own Boruto, he's not an object she called dibs on, so Sumire had no obligation to approach Sarada for 'permission' but she did, because she didn't wanna go behind her friends back going after somebody her friend liked, she wanted to know how Sarada felt first before saying anything about her own feelings, this is important considering what happens later in the timeskip that not enough ppl consider.

I get how on the surface this looks pretty petty, that's her childhood friend shes been worried about for 3 years so an emotional hug in relief isn't really anything to be mad over, but again, you gotta look at it from SUMIRE'S pov to understand how fked up this looks to her.

First you have to look at what Sumire says to Sarada, because she doesn't only talk about the hug, that's just one of many examples of Sarada not giving any thought to anyone else's feelings, that's just the example she chose to use here.

This is before she mentions the hug, Sumire is spot on in everything she says here because Sarada, even tho well intended, is being not only stupid but also extremely selfish here and the ppl trying to argue that it isn't are both delusional and in denial, especially the ones using Hinata to prove the point when Hinata herself literally says shes being SELFISH in what shes doing.

And what happened because of Hinata's selfishness? how did it affect Naruto?

Yeah, Naruto had a complete and total mental breakdown, he was in pain, suffering in agony, so much so he nearly gave into Kurama which would've killed him if he unsealed him that only by the grace of Minato thinking 16 years ahead was that prevented, otherwise Hinata doomed him to an early death by making him lose control like that with her selfishness.

Thats not a jab at Hinata btw, Naruto has been equally selfish and inconsiderate regarding Sasuke and others too at times, its only human, nobody is 100% unselfish and unflawed ALL the time that's just basic human nature, so there's nothing wrong with pointing out Hinata was selfish here just like there's nothing wrong to point out Sarada is too, it doesn't make them bad ppl, It just makes them human.

This is exactly what Sumire was talking about when she told Sarada to actually THINK for a moment, because for the past 3 years she hasn't thought about a got danm thing and it shows and this was just the final tipping point for Sumire because of what just happened recently, you'd think Sarada would've learned her lesson, wised up, realized the position shes in but no, instead she stupidly asks Ada where Boruto is so they could go chase after him, AFTER LITERALLY ALL THIS JUST HAPPENED

All this JUST HAPPENED and she has the AUDACITY to ask where Boruto is to try and chase after him, THAT was the tipping point for Sumire because this is not the first time Sarada was this annoyingly careless and even after getting humbled STILL repeated the same mistakes and Sumire is understandably fed up with it and calling her out, it was long overdue.

Why does Sarada need to know where Boruto is? what does she plan to do? go after him and then what? help fight the enemies that 1 v everybody like nothing? the same enemy that almost ate her alive? the one Boruto had to save her ass from? and will have to save her ass again?

Sumire is absolutely right, Boruto only struggled and got hurt because THEY were there and he had to keep in mind THEIR presence the entire time, if it was Boruto alone he might could've handled Hidari solo since he clearly doesn't have total mastery over Sasuke's arsenal yet, and he only got sniped because Kawaki stopped him to justifiably question wtf is going on, but again, these things wouldn't have happened if THEY weren't involved, he'd have defeated Hidari and dipped before Jura got a clean shot.

So Sumire is absolutely right, they are, at least currently, a liability to Boruto, they are just in his way, a distraction, as much as they might WANT to help they simply cant, they don't have the power or the means to help him in the way KK and Kawaki can, but that doesn't mean Sarada and Sumire cant help AT ALL in OTHER ways, they just cant help him fight those enemies like Sarada is stupidly suggesting after literally just getting bodied by said enemies and needing saving.

The fact that she is so unselfaware is also highly annoying because she thinks Boruto cant handle these enemies on his own despite him literally saving Hima AND her back to back with seconds to spare and then hard carrying everybody the entire fight and yet STILL had to make time to save Sarada in between charging up Uzuhiko, which he couldn't even do to completion because they couldn't even buy him enough time to so he just went with what he had, which ended up only blowing him in half that only by the grace of Kawaki appearing when he did was Hidari finished off before he healed himself.

This is whats frustrating about Sarada, because even with all this happening right in front of her eyes she still cant take a hint, she still lacks self awareness, something she lacked 3 years ago and still does now, she hasn't developed ONE BIT from then to now.

Even if her running after him is understandable Im not saying it isn't, but she doesn't ever think before she acts, her intent is to help yet she has 0 plan for how, like for example Hinata jumping in to help Naruto, how did she help him? despite knowing she was outmatched, she fought him, lost, but she did throw hands at him to buy Naruto even just a little more time

What did Sarada plan to do? absolutely nothing, she shot a fireball that Kawaki absorbed and then just stood there with a kunai ready while Kawaki approached her and slashed at her, she didn't even activate her Sharingan or get into a fighting stance, she was literally weak kneed and nervous and just waited to be attacked, needing to be saved by the very person SHE went there to save, costing him his eye, and she does ZERO reflection.

You'd think after that type of fumble she'd know better and DO better now but she doesn't, she does the EXACT same thing she did then, she is stupidly trying to run to 'help' Boruto with no danm game plan, even after just being humbled by these enemies she stupidly thinks Boruto actually needs their help despite them being in his way the entire time and holding him back.

Anyway I made my point there so lets move on but its important to why Sumire is getting fed up with her, because it doesn't take rocket science to put together that Boruto left with both his eyes but only lost one after Sarada went to go 'help' him, or hell I wouldn't be surprised if Sarada told her, either way its safe to assume Sumire knows this which is partially why shes irritated with Sarada's lack of self awareness.

First Boruto lost his eye because of her, then Boruto gets badly wounded trying to protect her and everyone else there, now she hears Ada saying Boruto is deliberately avoiding them to not get them involved as much as possible and Sarada stupidly asks for his location completely ignoring the elephant in the room, disregarding Borutos feelings and what just happened entirely because of what SHE wants and Sumire understandably had enough.

So moving on from Saradas lack of self awareness and selfishness, lets move onto what she says about the hug and why its also justified from Sumire's pov.

As a viewer this seems petty but again, you have to see this from Sumire's pov, as I mentioned 3 years ago, all the way back in chapter 19, Sumire approached Sarada FIRST before ever acting on her feelings to see how SHE felt about Boruto first before saying how she felt herself and Sarada told her she had no interest in him and that it doesn't bother her if other girls like him, so in Sumire's eyes she doesn't have to feel awkward about liking Boruto, that she can tell Sarada without causing any hard feelings in their friendship, Sarada GAVE HER that impression.

Sumire gave her the chance to come clean about how she feels, she asked her point blank and Sarada said NO, making Ssumire feel completely comfortable in confessing how she felt and pursuing him.

So for Sarada to give Sumire that impression, then after that run after Boruto as some grand proof of love [doesn't have to be romantic, after all Naruto and Sasuke risked their lives for each other out of love too] only to cost Boruto his eye, then when the whole world turned against Boruto she completely folded under pressure leaving Sumire to pick up all the pieces and holding HER together which is the ONLY reason she even thought of begging Sasuke for help, otherwise she would've left Boruto to die if not for Sumire saying their the only ones who could help him.

After Sasuke goes to save Boruto, we see Sumire by Saradas side supporting her, and before Boruto leaves he asks Ada to thank Sarada for sending Sasuke his way, having NO idea that it was actually Sumire who helped make that happen, nor that shes also unaffected and on his side as well.

3 years later and Sarada hasnt changed at all, all shes done is yap and lose her temper at Shikamaru consistently for 3 yrs straight and then complain to Sumire about it afterwards, she says 'again' implying this is a repeated occurrence that she whines to Sumire about afterwards everytime.

I want you to put yourself in Sumire's shoes, imagine your friend, the only other person you have to count on during this hard time just constantly fumbling, and not just fumbling, but also screwin up in ways that hurts the guy you like as well, but you still try to be a good friend and support her and just bite your tongue to preserve the friendship cuz you don't wanna come off mean or insensitive to their struggles despite you struggling as well and nobodies considering that.

Sumire tolerated Sarada's complete and total lack of consideration for her and how she felt and how shes struggling for 3 whole years, all the while constantly putting up with Sarada's complaining, her outbursts, her reckless behavior, shes remained calm and compassionate through it all because their all they've got to depend on now due to omnipotence, so you would think Sarada would consider Sumire but she DOESNT, instead it is always SUMIRE considering HER but she never receives that in return.

This is why the hug may sound petty on the surface, but that is just one example of a much larger problem.

Like Sumire says, she understands why Sarada acted the way she did, but when she asks did she ever consider how SHE felt, even tho its in reference to the hug, her question applies to everything

When Sarada hugged Boruto infront of her like that, knowing how she felt about him, knowing how worried she was about him too, knowing how relieved she'd be seeing Boruto alive and well too, did those thoughts ever cross her mind? no, because Sarada doesn't think about Sumire or how she feels

For context on why this looks bad from Sumire's pov is because unlike Sumire, Sarada actually SAW Boruto once already before this, SHE got to see Boruto alive and well in person, Sumire didn't, she just heard Boruto was in the village but never got to see him for herself.

It wasnt until chapter 5 where he revealed himself to BOTH of them that Sumire finally got to see Boruto again, and before she could even say or do anything Sarada threw herself at him with no regard for how Sumire was feelings, like she wasn't even there.

You can say Sarada was 'overwhelmed' seeing her friend again because she already saw him, she already knew he was ok, so this wasn't some spur of the moment thing, which is why there's an extra sting from this moment, BECAUSE shes already seen him, had time to process him being ok, had time to feel the relief and joy that Boruto was alive and well and strong enough to scare Code into retreat.

Sumire didnt get any of that tho, so there was probably a lot Sumire wanted to say or do when she finally saw him again, but Sarada didn't give her that chance, it was literally INSTANT before Sumire had even fully turned around she was already running to him.

Im not condemning Sarada for hugging her friend, that's stupid, Im just pointing out from Sumire's pov WHY this moment looked bad and rubbed her the wrong way.

Sumire's question is spot on, whereas Sumire was considerate of Sarada's feelings and understood why she reacted that way and STILL was attentive to how awkward she was feeling and made the effort to ease the tension, Sarada didn't consider Sumire AT ALL in that moment and hasn't been this entire time when you really play it all back.

Here are quotes by Sarada regarding Boruto to Sumire, or about Sumire, see if you notice something.

I only found out...that Boruto had died...after he had already been resurrected. At the time, I didn't even know...that he was in danger. Now that I know...I cant just stand around doing nothing!

But...this? its too cruel! why cant Boruto ever get a break?

But...you saw it too didnt you? if it'd gone badly...Boruto might've died instead of being wounded!

Its too reckless for him...to take on those monsters by himself!

Notice anything? not a single thought about Sumire, not one dialogue directed at her, about her, or how she feels

Now lets look at the same thing but this time from Sumire to Sarada about Boruto or about Sarada.

Stay calm Sarada! dont get flustered! Listen...if Ada finds out about this...it'll likely be bad! Think about it, those who become her captives...cant even think about attacking her! but...the two of us would actually be able to attack her! in short, there's a high possibility...that Ada would deem us security risks!

Sarada no! its too dangerous!

Calm down Sarada, you should be fine, actually you and me both. I don't have it all figured out yet, but given the facts...I'd say that Ada...is involved somehow.

Either way, you and I may be the only ones...who can help Boruto right now. And yet...Im not sure what we can do.

Sarada! you okay!?

Master Konohamaru! protect Sarada!! his target is Sarada! I think-- No, I know it!

Sarada, hang in there! Sarada!

Boruto! This foe is clearly after Sarada! just now...he completely ignored Master Konohamaru...and went for Sarada instead, the moment he saw her!

So many mentions of Sarada, concern, worry, thought for her wellbeing, thought for her mental state, supporting her, there for her.

When you look at all of that, Sumire's quote here really hits hard.

I've...tried to be respectful of your feelings. To understand that you reaction in that moment was to be expected. But...what about you Sarada? when you...were in front of me...did you think about my feelings at all...even just a little bit?

And that right there is what makes Sarada look so bad this chapter, because she DIDNT and when you play it all back, she NEVER has thought about her feelings, not even a little.

I am by no means saying this chapter makes Sarada a horrible person, nor am I saying shes a bad person or friend, but she does have bad friend tendencies that went unaddressed for far too long and its ok to call it out, nobodys perfect, the important thing is whether or not Sarada will finally REFLECT on these flaws and work to change and better herself, only time will tell but for now this opens the door for some much needed development for both of them that I hope Ikemoto doesn't fumble.

[beeeinyourbonnet]

Covetous | Chapter 23

Pairing: Nostelle 

Rating: E

Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [chapter 7] [chapter 8] [chapter 9] [chapter 10] [chapter 11] [chapter 12] [chapter 13] [chapter 14] [chapter 15] [chapter 16] [chapter 17] [chapter 18] [chapter 19] [chapter 20] [chapter 21] [chapter 22]

[read on ao3]

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Belle and Nosty slipped in to mass just a few minutes before it started. There were nearly two dozen people there this week, but even if there’d only been five again, they’d have sat together in the back pew, close to the aisle in case they needed an escape.

Lucy, Nosty’s admirer, glanced back at them, returning Belle’s smile of greeting before staring at Nosty’s arm around her shoulders and facing forward. Belle also smiled at Archie and Gray and the old woman, but then she finally had to look at Joseph. 

He stared at her from the pulpit, and the church was small enough that she could see the bags under his eyes, the stubble on his cheeks. Guilt filled her stomach, but she swallowed it away. She had no reason to feel guilty.

Instead of the kicked dog look she expected, Joseph stared at the two of them with his jaw clenched, eyes resolute, much the same way Nosty was staring away from him. What did that mean?

The service began and Belle tried to follow the prayer card just to keep from being bored, but it was so hard when the longer it went on, the more anxious she felt. Yesterday, mass had sounded like a safe place with low stakes for her to assess the situation, but this mass in an all but empty room, with almost nothing between them and Joseph, was suffocating.

Not sure which of them she intended to comfort, she squeezed Nosty’s knee. He squeezed her shoulder but didn’t turn from his aimless staring. She wanted to crawl into his lap, tuck herself safely into his arms where she knew he wouldn’t let anything touch her, but she had to settle for his arm around her and her hand on him.

Too soon, everyone was setting down their hymnals because it was time for the sermon. Nosty’s knee bounced under her hand, and she wanted to tap her feet anxiously as well, but if both of them did, it would be too loud, so she pressed her heels into the floor like her life depended on it.

“Thank you all for coming today,” Joseph said. “I’d like to take this time to make a confession, and have all of you bear witness to me as I bear witness to you.

“I think it’s important that everyone know that their clergy, their spiritual leaders, are human as well, and capable of making huge mistakes just like anyone else. I’m sure some clergy might disagree, but I know that we’re not exempt from making amends.”

Nosty’s fist clenched by her ear. She squeezed his knee, a sense of calm washing over her. Whatever happened, it would be over soon.

“I made a horrible mistake.” Joseph looked around the sanctuary. “I hesitate to call it a mistake now, because at the time, I thought I was being righteous, justified. A ‘mistake’ makes it seem like an accident, like I stepped on your toes as I walked by, but this wasn’t an accident. It was wrong.”

Everyone in the church was rapt, or maybe Belle was just unable to hear anything but the sermon.

“I treated someone very badly, someone that I would have liked to call a friend.” Joseph glanced down at his notes, then straight at Belle and Nosty. “He didn’t deserve that.” 

Belle almost didn’t dare to believe it. Nosty’s leg stilled.

“The truth is, I was a prick.” A murmur of laughter spread, but Nosty and Belle were silent. Joseph shook his head. “I don’t want to go into specifics, because I’d like to respect his privacy, something I haven’t done in the past, but I think it’s important for me to take accountability here, publicly, in my place of worship, this place that’s supposed to be a sanctuary for all lost souls.

“I wanted to be a good, kind person, but I didn’t want to give up anything to do it.” He looked straight at Nosty then, and Belle didn’t know if Nosty met his eyes or not. “I didn’t see his worth, because I closed my eyes and refused to look.”

Belle understood now why Joseph had decided to orate for a living. He held the room captive.

“There’s nothing left for me to say here, in public, except I’m sorry, and I hope he’ll give me the opportunity to apologize in person.

“I know we always stress that you’ve got to confess and repent, say your Hail Marys, reaffirm your relationship with God, but remember that we live on this earth now, and sometimes, the most important thing is to repent to and forgive one another.” He turned his page over and clasped his hands over it. “Thank you. Please join me at the altar if you’d like to take communion.”

Nosty stood with everyone else, and Belle thought he meant to take communion even though they weren’t Catholic, but then he stormed out of the sanctuary, letting the doors close behind him. 

She didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, everyone had already turned to stare, so it was likely they had all connected the dots, but on the other, Belle didn’t need any additional attention on them.

But Nosty needed her. She stood, locking eyes with Joseph and flashing him a tentative smile, and then hurried out.

Nosty sat on a bench, elbows on his thighs and hands in his hair, staring at the grass.

“Nosty?”

He didn’t speak, but he shifted to give her room to sit down. Tentative, she laid a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked.

It was as if she wasn’t even there. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge that anything was going on around him. Maybe to him, it wasn’t.

“Nosty?”

Finally, slowly, like he was clawing his way back to reality, he turned to her. “I can’t.” 

She rubbed his back, but he didn’t relax. “You can’t?”

Without warning, he shot to his feet and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I have to get out of here.” His head whipped from side to side, and then he stomped toward the park, pausing a few meters away before turning around.

Belle stood. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” He shook his head and halved the distance between them. “I just—I need some air. You go in. If you want. I can’t face him yet. I—”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes, but she could tell he was holding himself together for her benefit alone, so she waited. 

“I have my phone,” he said finally. “So if I’m not back—” He kicked the grass with the toe of his boot. 

“I can still reach you,” she supplied. He glanced up at her, and she thought he might have looked relieved, but she could have invented that because he was gone before she could say anything more.

Belle plopped back onto the bench, not sure what to do. No one had left yet, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to face Joseph either. She’d thought so many awful things about him since yesterday, and even if he didn’t know—and even if they were warranted—she was still embarrassed. 

The doors opened and a group of people left, but Belle was too unfocused to see if she should be saying goodbye to anyone. After the second wave of exits, she stood again.

She could go inside. She was brave enough to face Joseph. And what was the worst that could happen? She’d have an awkward conversation? 

She could survive an awkward conversation. 

Steeling herself, she pushed the doors open and strode inside. A couple people hung about chatting with one another in the pews, and Joseph was busy moving things around at the pulpit.

Even though no one actually paid attention to her, she felt like all eyes were on her as she strode down the aisle toward Joseph. She paused before him and it took almost half a minute for him to look up and freeze.

“Belle.” His voice was hoarse. 

“Hi.”

“I thought you’d left.” He straightened up, gripping his sermon notes like a shield.

“I didn’t.” She wished she had pockets or something to do with her hands other than twist them behind her back. 

“Do you—” He swallowed. “Tea?”

“No, thank you.” It would be too much to sit in the kitchen and wait for tea to brew and then be beholden to however long it took to drink it. 

“Right.” He glanced down at his sermon.

“But we can talk upstairs.”

His wounded dog face didn’t make her as angry as it had on Friday, but then, it didn’t look so pathetic today. 

They walked up the stairs in silence, Belle clutching her phone in case Nosty called, and once they made it to the rectory, Joseph stopped and turned around.

“Have a seat?” He gestured weakly to the couch, but Belle did not feel comfortable enough to have this conversation on the couch. This was too serious.

“How about the kitchen table?”

He winced, but nodded, leading her that way without comment. She licked her dry lips—was she about to find an empty booze bottle?

“Careful,” Joseph said, skirting something just inside the door, and then she was grateful for the warning because instead of an empty bottle, it was a shattered bottle, with whatever the contents were now stuck to the floor in a sticky, congealed puddle littered with broken glass and the remnants of a mug.

Belle knelt to lift the handle off the floor, the only piece still intact. She didn’t recognize it, so she set it back down and then sat at the table.

Joseph removed his robes and hung them on the back of a chair before joining her, head ducked to look at his hands in his lap.

Belle almost wanted to throw him a bone, break the silence first, but she didn’t know what to say. He’d surprised her by apologizing to Nosty, and it didn’t sound like pretty words meant to manipulate her, but she still didn’t know what Nosty thought. And she still wasn’t sure she forgave him.

“Where’d he go?” Joseph asked. 

Anger flared hot in Belle’s chest. “Are you concerned about him, or do you want him to absolve you of guilt?”

Joseph flinched. “I just don’t know what else to say.”

She picked at one of her nails, vowing to treat herself to a manicure as soon as possible. She deserved it. “He’ll be back soon.” 

“I’m glad you found him.”

“Are you?”

He looked up at her, and she met his eyes, expecting him to cower again. When he didn’t, a tiny bit of anger left her. “Belle, I’m—” He shook his head. “I don’t have anything to say other than ‘I’m sorry,’ and I don’t think you want to hear that anymore.”

She chipped off a triangle of polish. “I’m open to an apology.”

“Then Belle, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

She was glad they had a whole table between them so that she couldn’t reflexively reach to comfort him. Let him stew. 

“Why?” she asked. “Why did you hate him so much?”

He rubbed the side of his arm, reaching for his pocket again. “I was convinced he’d hurt you again.”

Belle shook her head. “That’s just an excuse, and I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you didn’t seem worried about it at all!” he said. “Someone had to be.”

“Of course I was worried about it!” Belle rubbed her forehead. Where was Nosty anyway? “I just didn’t say anything because I knew you would make a big deal of it, and besides, it’s my choice whether I trust him or not, not yours.”

“Belle, I—”

“No!” She stood, and then immediately plopped back down, afraid of slipping on more spilled booze. If Nosty had to come scrape her off the floor, Joseph might not make it out alive. “You didn’t think I knew what I wanted.”

“Do you remember what it was like when he left the first time?” Joseph asked. “Because I do. I didn’t want that to happen again!”

“Of course I remember.” The tears sprung to her eyes without her permission, and she swiped them away. “That’s why we were taking it slow, figuring things out.”

“Yeah?” He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or sick. “And how long did you spend looking for him on Friday?”

“How long?” she asked, glad that his hard look never turned smug. “I didn’t look for him at all. He was waiting for me at the solicitor’s office, just like he promised he would be.”

Joseph’s eyes widened like she’d punched him in the gut, and his lap was suddenly intriguing. Belle crossed her arms. She could wait all day for Joseph to digest that little factoid—or, at least, she could wait until she heard back from Nosty. 

“I’m glad,” he said as though she’d pulled the words from him by force.

“You know what?” She stood, and this time, she pushed her chair back in. “This was a mistake. I’m going to get his things.”

“No, wait!” He leapt up and grabbed her sleeve. She didn’t move. “I really am glad. I just—I feel stupid. That’s all.”

She calmed a fraction but didn’t move to sit. “You were stupid.”

“I was jealous.”

When she looked up at him, she expected him to be watching his hand on her sleeve or the wall or the ceiling, but he stared straight at her. 

“That’s not fair to me,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to be with you, and even if I did, I couldn’t be. You’d be dooming me to a life of loneliness.”

“I know.” He dropped his hand. “I’ve just—I’ve never questioned my calling, but I wanted to. I wanted to be the most important person to you, even if we couldn’t be together.”

“Joseph, you are very important to me,” she said. “But you chose this life. I didn’t. I’m not a nun.”

“I told myself I was just protecting you,” Joseph said. “I believed it.” 

Slowly, she sat back down, and Joseph let go. They sat in not uncomfortable silence for at least a minute before Belle put her hand on the table. She didn’t want him to take it or touch it, but she wanted to at least show that she wasn’t holding herself taut anymore. A tentative peace offering.

“If Nosty decides he doesn’t want to see you again, then we won’t,” she said. “It’s not my place to offer forgiveness.”

Joseph swallowed and nodded. “Do you think he will?” 

Belle shrugged. “I don’t know.”

They sat in silence again, Belle staring at the sticky mess on the wall. She would not clean it; she would not tidy or fix or straighten. 

“I want to make amends,” Joseph said. “I know I fucked up. Badly. He deserved so much more than I gave him.” 

Belle couldn’t respond. She thought Nosty deserved the whole world, but she was biased. 

“If he’ll let me, I’ll work to earn his trust again, just like he worked to earn yours.”

“I hope not exactly the same way,” she said, and when Joseph frowned in confusion, she let slip a tiny grin. He laughed, then jumped in surprise at the sound.

“Well, if that’s what he’d prefer,” he said, and she laughed too. 

“I want to pick up some of his things,” she said. “I don’t know when exactly we’ll be back here.”

Good humor dissipating as quickly as it had arrived, Joseph nodded. “Of course. I’ll—I’ll leave you to it.”

Belle stood for the umpteenth time and Joseph did not join her this time. She eyed the spill. “Are there any more hazards I should know about?” 

“No. And—” Joseph rapped his fingers on the table. 

“And?”

“I didn’t drink. I was going to, but I stopped myself. I just thought you should know.”

Even though she was mad, and even though her vision of him had suffered, that did make her happy. “Good.” She smiled at him. “I’m glad.”

****

Nosty stayed radio silent and gone for forty minutes before he texted Belle that he’d meet her at home—home!—and then she waited for him with a pot of hot coffee and sandwiches from the place around the corner for another two hours. 

He came in panting and sweaty, kissed her on the cheek, and went straight for the shower. She was dying to know what was going through his head, but all she could really ask of him was not to disappear without warning, and he hadn’t, so she was trapped.

When he emerged in a t-shirt and pajama pants, he finally sat for the first time, across from her at the kitchen table.

“Hey,” he said as though he hadn’t had what she could only assume was a three hour mental breakdown.

“Hi.” She reached across the table for him and he took her hand.

“Thanks for bringing me more clothes.” 

“Of course.” She squeezed his. “Are you okay?”

“Got the shrink tomorrow,” he said.

It wasn’t an answer, but she thought she understood what he was trying to say. She squeezed his hand again then stood to retrieve the sandwiches.

“That’ll be good. Are you hungry?” 

He nodded, then poured himself a coffee while she found napkins and plates and set them out. They ate in silence for awhile, and though Belle was dying to ask him a thousand questions, it wasn’t an awkward silence. Nosty inhaled his food, presumably hungry from walking all the way from the church, and Belle wasn’t too far behind since she’d just been sitting here for two hours, waiting to eat it.

“Belle?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Thanks.” He crumpled up his sandwich paper and tossed it toward the bin, standing when it pinged off the rim.

“For lunch?” she asked, crumpling up her own. “Of course.”

“Well, that too.” He busied himself with throwing away both papers. “But I mean, for letting me go. And trusting I would come back.”

She crept up behind him, though she knew he could hear her anyway, and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his back. 

“I have no reason not to trust you, Nosty,” she said. “You haven’t given me one.”

He turned in her arms and wrapped his own around her. “And I won’t,” he said, quietly. “I promise.”

****

Maybe her heart trusted Nosty, but her anxiety still remembered what it was like kissing him before work and expecting him back at lunch time only to have him disappear. She tried to ignore that when he kissed her goodbye at the car with a promise to return for a late lunch after his appointment. 

“And don’t forget,” he said, hands cupping her face and fingers tangled in her hair, a much more thorough kiss goodbye than made her comfortable—like he planned to leave for a long time. “You promised you’d teach me how to use the computer.”

“I won’t forget.” She kissed him, unable to hold his elbows because she was holding the lunchbox she’d packed for them, which did include a sneaky extra sandwich for Kaz just in case. “Have a good session.”

He kissed her once more and then he was off. She didn’t even know where the office was, but he had a few hours to kill, and now that he had a roof over his head at night, he liked to spend time outside instead of cooped up in the library. 

Belle sat at her desk for most of the morning, alternating shopping online for things she couldn’t buy and shopping for new books for the library. They hadn’t talked at all about Joseph yesterday, and she hoped he would say something after therapy, but what if he didn’t? Would they just live in this weird limbo, and she’d have to go back to the church to get the rest of his things and then leave forever?

Kaz showing up was a welcome distraction, and Belle invented a craft that desperately needed to be done so the two of them sat at a table and made friendship bracelets for an undefined group of kids. It didn’t take Kaz long to get the hang of it, and soon they were working in focused silence.

Around one, Belle reminded herself that Nosty had promised to come back. She wasn’t even exactly sure when his appointment was, so she didn’t even know if he was late. 

At two, they had a pile of bracelets that Belle needed a purpose for, and Kaz was making herself a lunch from the snack cart. Belle alternated between reminding herself that she trusted Nosty and berating herself for doubting him. 

Then, at 2:27, Nosty swaggered through the doors, and she could have wept. 

“Nosty!” Kaz said.

“Hey,” he said, then grabbed Belle’s cheeks and planted a kiss on her that left her dizzy. 

Kaz wolf-whistled, a gleeful look on her face as Belle blushed like a schoolgirl. “Thought you didn’t have a fellow?”

“Well—”

“She does now.” Nosty kissed her again, then swept off to her office, leaving her to press her fingers to her lips. 

“So I guess you really aren’t scared of him,” Kaz said, still grinning like she’d just learned the juiciest secret. “I knew he fancied you.”

“I’ll be right back.” Belle stood and almost knocked over her chair. “Are you hungry? I’ll be right back.”

“You said already.” 

Belle fled to Kaz’s snickering, joining Nosty in her office where he was sitting on her desk, setting out food at their respective seats. He held up the third sandwich when she walked in.

“Feeding more strays?” He jerked his chin toward the door.

“You have to stop talking like that,” Belle said. “None of you are animals.”

“Old habits.” He kissed her again, and though he was always affectionate, the PDA surprised her. “I’ll give it to her.” 

He slipped out, and she plopped into her chair, pressing her hands to her flushed face. The elation at his return filled her like a balloon, and she could have floated away. 

It took a little longer for him to give Kaz a sandwich than she expected, so she hoped he was being nice, but when he returned, he was still in good spirits. She’d never seen him so happy after therapy.

“What has gotten into you?” she asked. 

He shrugged, swallowing a giant bite of sandwich. “I missed you. Happy to see you.” 

“You’ve been with me all weekend.”

“I always have to go back to the church after I see the shrink, don’t I? Never get to see you right away.” He shrugged again. “It’s nice.”

It had hurt so badly when Nosty left her all those weeks ago, but would that Nosty have ever gotten to the point where he would say something like that to her? For that matter, would he have ever agreed to therapy? Would Belle have even suggested it? Kathryn was a miracle worker.

“So, is there anything you want to talk about?” Belle popped a grape in her mouth, raising an eyebrow.

Nosty shook his head. “Will you take me to the church after work?” 

Was this what whiplash was like? “Of course. Are we just—getting your stuff?”

He studied a grape in his hand, picking at the skin, and then shook his head. “I want to talk to Joseph.”

Progress. “Do you want to talk to me about anything first?”

He glanced at her, then back at his grape. “Will you be mad if I say no?”

She didn’t know what to feel, but “mad” certainly wasn’t it. “No. You don’t have to talk to me about this, but I’m here if you need something.”

He finally popped the grape in his mouth and stood. “I need you to teach me about computers.”

She had been mulling over how she planned to do this all day, since growing up with computers meant that it was so ingrained within her, she couldn’t even begin to know where to start. She decided on a typing course, since almost everything Nosty wanted to do would require him to use a keyboard, and it was probably the easiest transition from his cell phone.

Much to her surprise, Kaz wanted to be set up at a computer next to him, so she loaded the typing program she remembered from her childhood on both machines and set them to work, Nosty with his brow furrowed in concentration and Kaz with childlike delight. She probably didn’t need the typing course, Belle realized. She had to have been at least ten years younger than the two of them, and it was likely she’d actually learned to use computers in school. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” Belle said, resting a hand on Nosty’s shoulder when he turned a panicky look on her. 

“What if it breaks?” he asked. 

“It won’t break. And if it does, I’m right there.” He nodded, and after a glance at Kaz already absorbed into her typing games, turned to his screen.

From her desk, she was close enough to see when Nosty’s shoulder’s tensed, when they relaxed, when he desperately searched for a key, and a well of pride filled her. She had never seen Nosty set himself to a task that he wasn’t already good at, but she could imagine that the Nosty of a few months ago would have stormed off if he hadn’t gotten the hang of typing immediately. Now, his shoulders would roll and he would stretch his neck, but he kept doggedly on, and she even felt bad when she had to tear them both from the screens to close the library. 

Nosty wandered off to have a cigarette while Belle locked up, and then Kaz appeared at her elbow.

“Belle?”

She pressed a hand to her racing heart. Somehow, having Nosty around had made her even less observant. “What’s up?” 

“You’ll be careful?” 

They both looked toward Nosty, smoking and pacing by the car, and Belle couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips.

“I’ll be careful.” 

****

It wasn’t until they’d pulled into the parking lot that Belle realized she should give Joseph a heads up they were coming, so she sent him a text and they resolved to wait in the car at least until he responded. Nosty ran a hand through his hair and squeezed his locks into their usual ponytail, clutching it like a security blanket.

“Should I be getting the rest of your things while you talk to Joseph?” Belle asked. She hadn’t managed to pry any information out of him the whole drive, but this seemed a safe, logical question.

“Don’t think so.” He stared at the church door. So he didn’t plan to cut Joseph off.

“Do you want me there for it?” 

He licked his lips, then nodded. “If I get—upset—you take over. Just until I’m meself again.”

“Of course.” What a lovely thought that Nosty didn’t consider being upset his normal anymore. 

Her phone buzzed with Joseph’s response and Nosty paled, gripping his ponytail tight.

“We don’t have to go in yet,” Belle said. “I don’t know if he knows we’re literally outside.”

He shook his head. “No, let’s get this over with.”

She didn’t know if he’d want to be touched on the endless walk from car to church door, but she smiled when he grabbed her hand, lacing his finger through hers.

 Unsurprisingly, Joseph opened the doors just as they were walking up. Beside her, Nosty drew himself up, and Joseph swallowed.

“You came,” he said.

Nosty said nothing.

“We did,” Belle said. 

Joseph watched Nosty, but when it became clear that he wasn’t going to say anything, turned to Belle. “Come in. I made coffee.”

It had never felt too inconvenient that they had to walk through the atrium and the sanctuary to even get to the staircase that led to the rectory, but now they all trudged back in silence like they were headed to an execution. Joseph led them up the stairs, and Belle kept between him and Nosty, and then they continued their march across the sitting room and through to the kitchen, where Joseph had cleaned up the broken glass and spilled alcohol.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the table, so Belle, wishing that anything she did could make this situation less awkward, took the first seat.

Nosty stood next to her, arms folded, while Joseph brought three mugs, the carton of creamer, and sugar to the table, then poured the coffee. Belle took a mug and then pushed one toward Nosty, but he didn’t move until Joseph was seated with his own mug. Then, he sat, but he did not reach for the cream or sugar. Should she add it to his coffee? Did he even know he had a coffee?

Joseph took a sip from his mug, then winced, presumably burning his tongue. Belle poured cream into hers. Nosty continued to stare, only moving to bring the sugar closer to Belle when she reached for it. 

“Someone say something,” Belle said because she could not take it anymore. 

“Nosty,” Joseph said. “I’m sorry.”

Nosty said nothing, tapping his knee rhythmically under the table. Joseph glanced at Belle, but she didn’t know if this counted as a moment that Nosty wanted her to take over, so she didn’t speak.

“I treated you badly,” Joseph went on. “I didn’t respect you. You deserved my respect.” 

“Yeah,” Nosty said. “Okay.” 

Belle would never take back her friendship and love for either man, but sitting here at this table between the two of them, she was considering wishing they’d all never met so that she’d never have to sit in this palpable tension. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Nosty tapped his foot. “I mean, not okay. It’s not. Okay.” 

Belle reached for his knee under the table and he closed his hand around hers. 

“Okay,” Joseph said.

“I talked it over,” Nosty said. “And I don’t forgive you.” 

Belle had a moment of panic, a small flash of concern that Nosty had actually come here to commit violence, and Joseph’s crestfallen face was no help.

“Right,” Joseph said.

“Stop looking at me.” Nosty tapped his free hand still, staring now into his black coffee. 

“What?”

“Just turn around,” Belle said, having some experience with Nosty’s preference of talking to walls. “I’ll turn too, okay?”

Nosty nodded, and Joseph, though he clearly didn’t know what to make of it, faced the fridge. Belle, wanting to keep an eye on Joseph, just turned so that she could no longer see Nosty. She felt him let out a breath.

“I don’t have to forgive you yet,” Nosty said, as though he was going to refer them to his therapist should either of them argue. “But I accept your apology. And—and I’m sorry for—hitting you with a spoon.”

Belle pressed her lips together to squash her surprised laugh. Hitting him with a spoon?

“I deserved to be hit with a spoon,” Joseph said. 

It was very difficult, after that, to hold in her laughter, but she managed.

“I have some conditions,” Nosty said. “You can turn back.”

She and Joseph shifted around, and he did not look anywhere near as amused about the spoon thing as she did, so she resolved never to bring it up. Whatever it meant was in the past.

“Okay,” Joseph said. “I’m listening.”

“First, I want you to do something for homeless people,” Nosty said. 

Joseph’s eyes widened. “Something like—what?”

“I don’t know. You’ve got all these empty rooms.” He gestured around. “People are sleeping on the streets.”

“Nosty, I can’t just have strangers sleeping here all the time,” he said. “It’s not set up for that.”

Nosty turned to Belle, eyes pleading.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to just have strangers sleeping in your home,” Belle agreed. “But maybe you can host a soup kitchen once a week? And raise money for shelters?” 

“And take Kaz in,” Nosty added. “She’s not dangerous.”

“Okay,” Joseph said, though he looked a little pale behind his collarino. “You both have to be here for the first few nights she is, then.”

Nosty glanced at Belle for approval, then nodded. 

“So what’s second?” Joseph asked.

“You have to see a therapist.”

Belle should not have been present for this. If someone made one more face like the one Joseph was making now or one more reference to hitting people with spoons, she was going to laugh and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. 

“A therapist?” 

“Aye.” Nosty folded his arms.

“But I’m a priest.”

“And who’s more fucking repressed than a priest, hey?” 

Joseph looked to Belle like she might help him, but all she did was shrug. A therapist was a great idea as far as she was concerned.

“Fine. Give me your therapist’s number.”

Nosty scoffed. “You can’t see my shrink. Get your own.”

“I’ll help you find one,” Belle said before Joseph could protest. 

He sighed. “Okay. Fine. I will find a therapist. Is that all?”

Nosty shook his head. “Just one more thing.” 

Was Joseph starting to regret apologizing? He was eyeing Nosty like he was afraid of having a mug thrown at him. “What is it?”

“You have to cut your hair off with me.”

Joseph’s mouth fell open. “What? That’s—that’s just—that doesn’t have anything to do with anything.”

“Actually,” Belle said, because now that Nosty had said it, she felt that a haircut was a fitting punishment. “It would be a lovely gesture of solidarity. Nosty is getting a haircut for his court date.”

Joseph looked between the two of them, while Nosty folded his arms a little more smugly than Belle found appropriate. When neither of them budged, he sighed.

“Fine. Okay. I guess I’m supposed to—to reject vanity. So I’ll cut my hair off.”

“It’ll grow back,” Nosty said. 

“It will.” He took a sip of his coffee and winced again, probably because it was cold this time. “And then we’re back? All of us? Together?”

“Is that what you want?” Nosty asked. “All of us? Or just Belle?”

Joseph rubbed his finger along the mug handle, and Belle’s heart sank. After all this, after yesterday and Friday, after Nosty’s therapy, was Joseph going to throw it all away?

“Obviously, Belle is very important to me,” Joseph said to his coffee. “I suppose it’s also obvious that I behaved the way I did out of less than noble motives. And I have to admit that I’m not thrilled about sharing her, but I suppose that is something I’ll need to work on in—” He swallowed. “—therapy.”

“We’re together,” Nosty said, then glanced at Belle for approval.

“A package deal,” she said.

“I know,” Joseph said. “And I want the whole package.”

No one spoke for a minute, then Nosty thrust a hand across the table. Joseph shook it.

“Maybe we’ll actually be friends someday,” Joseph said.

“We’ll see,” Nosty said.

“I believe in both of you,” Belle said, and neither of them scoffed. She smiled, letting her shoulders relax. Things were finally looking up.

[stewardofningishzida]

Stephen Strange Meta-Fic Sequel - Chapter 12: Dormammu

Here we gooooo!~ Interdimensional weirdness abound! Also, our cast of characters has expanded. ;-)

TRIGGER WARNING: Portrayal of a panic attack, general adventure scary situations, burn injury on hands

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Chapter 12: Dormammu

*Stephen Strange drifts through a familiar dimension, though he certainly wishes that he was anywhere else.  As he floats through with his Cloak in tow, the sorcerer eventually comes to a twisting, convoluted path emerging from the void.  He touches down to investigate.  Stephen looks around and sees the usual floating interdimensional debris, along with the occasional Mindless One probing the Ruler of the Dark Dimension’s force field for weaknesses.  Various multicolored objects lazily drift about, as though in a light breeze, despite there being no wind currents to speak of in this accursed place.  He ventures upside-down through a swirling archway, paying no heed to the directionless gravity.  All the while, a life form resembling a cross between a giant flatworm and a rabbit swims through the endless expanse nearby.  Stephen senses that he’s being watched and is on alert.  Though the mage cannot quite place who or what this being is yet.*

*Turns out Stephen is being watched, but not by anyone dangerous. Rather, it is a woman dressed from head to toe in purple. Her silver hair floats around her as she gazes up at the man, clearly intrigued by him.

Mystery Woman: He’s returned…! As I hoped he would someday.

*She hesitates; she wants to go over and introduce herself to him but still isn’t sure. She is Dormammu’s niece, after all. He may suspect she’s here to harm him. Sure, her dreams say otherwise, but she’s not so sure. Dreams are pleasant, but reality?...Well, she knows reality isn’t always that kind. So she decides to lay low for now.*

*The sorcerer continues on his path, feeling the aura of his scheming enemy grow ever closer.  However, he pauses for a moment and looks around, already suspicious.*

Stephen (flatly):  I know you’re back there.  Reveal yourself.  *He’s on the defensive, bracing for a potential attacker.*

*The Mystery Woman is surprised at being called out so quickly.*

Mystery Woman: (Sighs) Goddammit. *She comes out from behind the veil and shows herself to the good doctor.* Hello, Doctor Strange.

Stephen (cautious):  What business do you have on this pathway, Miss?

*He subtly looks her up and down, noting mentally that she looks exactly like the woman from his nighttime visions.*

Mystery Woman: I only intend to help you. Nothing more.

Stephen (cautious):  How can I be sure of that?  *He won’t give any extra details away, wanting to see if he can discern her true intentions.*

*The Mystery Woman starts racking her brain for what she could possibly offer as proof to him. She could take him to Dormammu’s keep, but that may only make him even more suspicious of her. Then it hits her like a dagger to the heart.*

Mystery Woman: *She waves her hand and forms a magic dagger she takes in her hand.* This is The Blade of Mysterium; it is an anti-magic dagger. One strike may either cleave your magic in two, or kill you outright. *She holds it out to Stephen.* I presume this will suffice?

*He takes a step back momentarily to keep out of reach while silently assessing the weapon.  Judging by the energy it gives off, he understands that she’s telling the truth.*

Stephen:  You are willing to part with this?  *He watches her carefully before accepting the dagger.  Stephen sheathes it to be safe, observing her out of the corner of his eye.*  Very well.  I will hold you to your word.  *He decides to see where this goes.  For now.*

Mystery Woman: *She smiles.* Oh thank you!- *Clears her throat.* I mean…thank you.

*Doctor Strange looks at her curiously for a second before awkwardly clearing his own throat.*

Stephen:  Yes…Hmm…I am currently en route to Dormammu’s keep.  Would you guide me, please?  I haven’t much time to waste.

Mystery Woman: *She’s beaming happily.* It would be my pleasure, Doctor. *She floats ahead of him.* Come, you say you’re in a hurry, so…

*He follows her, still on-guard, but deciding to trust her at the moment.*

*In the center of the Dark Dimension, a mysterious being studies the magical connection of universes as it has been acting quite odd in the past year. There is a section of the floating map that he has specifically crossed off, it wasn’t worth the trouble to try and go for it since he did agree to a deal just to get that sorcerer to stop that infernal loop. However, something seems to be growing somewhat near that forbidden universe. A new one perhaps?*

Dormammu: Interesting…

*He summons the map closer and inspects this newer universe. It is absolutely oozing magical energy and almost seems like it’s overflowing with potential. It’s also so new that no one would realize it was even there to begin with and it would be absolutely delicious to absorb into the collective. Something catches his attention though…something…almost familiar. It’s nearly drowned out by the new magic that is forming but it gives him pause. No matter, it’s likely from another world he has already absorbed. Now, he could go feast…*

*The Mystery Woman is in front of Stephen, making her way to Dormammu’s keep. The whole time, she can feel his eyes on her at all times, watching her. Though whether or not he’s intrigued or suspicious, she can’t say for sure. So, she looks back at him, curiously. His eyes are stoic but she can see a hint of intrigue in his blue orbs. So if he is, why not engage in some small talk? Or at least try to.*

Mystery Woman: *She rips her gaze away from him.* I’m surprised you haven’t asked me how I know your name.

Stephen:  At this point, it seems almost par for the course.  Though I AM curious.  How did you find out about me?  *He’s a bit awkward about being directly confronted with this fact, but seems to play it off well.  The sorcerer’s questions are put forth with a curious, albeit cautious tone.  It appears that he is just as curious about her as she is about him.*

Mystery Woman: *She smiles.* I remember when you first came here.

Stephen (mixed emotions, a bit curious and also suspicious):  …You saw me?  Then, why didn’t you intervene back then?  Why help me now?

Mystery Woman: Yes. *She turns to him, arms behind her back and still flying. Her smile is now a bit playful,but mostly nostalgic.* Your magic affected the entire dimension. So, I went to see what all the fuss was about and…well, I showed up just in time to see Dormammu squish you. *She holds back a chuckle at Stephen’s sudden wide-eyed stare.* I was but a mere noblewoman then, not nearly as adept at magic, so I doubt I could’ve helped you. But I…couldn’t tear my eyes away…I was taken with you bravery and nobility. *She turns away to hide the blush on her cheeks. *As for why I’m helping you now…I knew you would return. I kept having dreams of you. Some of them were unpleasant, like seeing you disintegrate. Others showed me that…you would return to this place and do battle with Dormammu, again. I wanted to help however I could.

*Stephen takes a moment to process this information.*  

Stephen (pensive):  Fascinating…What is your name?  *He doesn’t want to give too much extra information just in case, but Prettywitch’s visions, his dreams, and our implied prior knowledge seems to be coalescing in his mind as he speaks with this woman.*

Mystery Woman: *She turns to him and smiles.* Clea…

Stephen (polite):  It’s a pleasure to finally meet you properly, Clea.  *He returns her smile with a well-mannered smile of his own.*

Clea: *Her smiles widens. She even hums a little as her cheeks turn red.* It’s nice to finally meet you, as well… *She senses something.* Come! *She takes his hand and they hide behind a chunk of debris.*

*He follows her direction and listens carefully, attempting to discern what’s going on.  Though he does sense Dormammu’s aura closer now.  They must be nearing his keep.  Clea is true to her word so far, at least.*

Clea: Wait here. *She carefully pokes her head out from the rock and, frightened by what she sees, hides herself again, quickly.* Shit! There’s Mindless Ones about. He must know you’re here.

*Stephen subtly scans the area, noting how many potential enemies are about.  Some, although enveloped in Dormammu’s energy, feel oddly familiar…*

*A group of what used to be people stagger by in familiar robes. Their eyes are completely gone and are just endless voids cracking off where their skin should be. It seems that this has become the fate of the rogue sorcerers who once almost bested Stephen all that time ago. Leading the pack is Stephen’s first enemy: Kaecillus.*

*His stomach drops, recognizing Kaecillus and his Zealots, despite the changes they’re undergone.  The sorcerer does his best to remain stoic in his observations.  Though the horror of what happened to them has made a considerable impact on him.  They made their own choices, but a small part of him still feels guilt for having effectively sentenced them to a fate worse than death.  The sum of the consequences of their combined actions back from when he was a mere Adept presenting itself before him now.*

Stephen (quietly to Clea):  Stay down.  We’ll try to get past them quickly and quietly.  No need to alert Dormammu even further and be even more obvious right now.

Clea: *She nods.* Right…

*She takes his hand again and waits until the Mindless Ones have passed the debris they’re hiding behind. Then they make their way towards the Dread One’s keep.

*The sorcerer is on high alert now, his ears perked and head on a swivel to pay attention to their surroundings.*

*Dormammu has been focused solely on this new universe and has been beginning to gather as many of his mindless ones as possible to pave the way to this new universe. He would gain so many more soon once the siege started. It was a nudge of familiar energy that finally dragged his attention from his project. Not only was it his niece who dared defy him but she had brought that bargainer. 

Dormammu: No matter. I will leave sooner than expected while he is too busy to stop me. 

*He summons a surprise to wait for the sorcerer and hastens his plans so he can leave as soon as possible…*

*Looming just ahead of the pair is Dormammu’s Keep.  Mindless Ones swarm through the gate into the imposing fortress, already mobilizing.*

Clea: Oh Dormammau’s flames! There’s hundreds of them! *She thinks of what to do and decides there’s only one way to fix this…but that would mean revealing her true nature to him…She can’t…No, she must. She can’t bear to watch her Uncle take another planet into himself, not anymore. If it meant the man who inspired her to stand up for her beliefs like she always wanted to would no longer trust her? So be it. She turns to Stephen, sadly.* Let me handle this.

*She lets go of his hand and flies at top speed towards the swarm of Mindless Ones. They see her and immediately begin to make their descent towards her. But Clea doesn’t care; she ignites herself, becoming a woman on fire. Purple fire to be specific. With one, furious battle cry she speeds towards the army and thrusts her arms forward, setting off a powerful explosion akin to a nuclear blast. In an instant, the Mindless Ones are gone.*

*Clea floats there for a moment. She breathes a deep sigh and returns to her normal, human looking form. She turns to Stephen, nervously.*

Clea: Sorry. It was the only way.

*Stephen watches the whole thing unfold and is stunned.  He stares at her, wide-eyed for a second before composing himself.  Although he generally disapproves of killing, it may have been a mercy for these beings, judging by what happened to his former enemies after Dormammu assimilated them into his army all of those years ago.*

Stephen (attempting to remain stoic, but also trying to figure out exactly who Clea really is):  Your attacks…They’re familiar.  Too familiar.  Who are you exactly?  *He wants the full truth.*

Clea: *She bites her lip in worry. Still, she chose to take a risk, didn’t she? She sighs.* I am…Dormammu’s niece; his rightful Heir to his throne…Or at least I was until I defied him, but yes. He is my Uncle…begrudgingly.

Stephen (listening intently):  What made you decide to defy him?  

Clea: *She smiles.* You did.

*He can’t help it as his face flushes red.*

Stephen (awkward):  Erm…Thank you for taking my actions to heart.  *Composing himself quickly, knowing that time is of the essence.*  Anyway, you lead the way since you’re even more familiar with our common enemy.  I will mount the attack as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

Clea: *Inside, she’s surprised he’s flattered and still trusting of her. She’d love to flirt more, since she’s finding his awkwardness to be adorable, but time is of the essence.* Of course, Doctor.

*She flies forward while he follows.*

*They enter the Keep, the path having been cleared by the Faltine woman’s flames. However, a hooded figure in yellow stands at the bottom of the stairs, a familiar mark glowing from the shadows of their hood.*

*Stephen freezes, the sight of this figure a veritable punch to the gut.*

Stephen (quietly, to himself):  No…

Figure in Yellow (sing-singing): Stephen…

Clea: *She raises an eyebrow.* Stephen? *She turns to him.* Do you know this person? 

Stephen:  I did, once.  What feels like an eternity ago…By the Eye of Agamotto, reveal to me the True Sight before us!  *He invokes the Eye amulet around his neck to see through any potential illusions in front of them.  Even without the Time Stone, the Eye itself is a powerful relic that can reveal the truth to its user.*

*Unfortunately, the Eye does nothing.*

*He had been hoping that what he saw was merely an illusion, but his heart sinks further when he realizes that The Ancient One’s soul has, in fact, been taken in by his nemesis.*

*The Ancient One pulls back her hood to reveal that she has been just as affected as the mindless ones. Her eyes are pitch black and the skin on her face is cracked, revealing a void. It seems the mark that is glowing upon her brow is the only way she still has her mind even if her allegiance has shifted in death.*

*Stephen reluctantly readies himself.*

Stephen (quietly, to his former master):  I’m sorry…*He steels himself and initiates the duel.*  BY THE CRIMSON BANDS OF CYTTORAK!  *He casts the binding spell in hopes of incapacitating her.*

*She smirks before easily dodging them*

Ancient One: You have at least gained more of a mastery over the mystic arts versus your hastened graduation. How is Mordo doing these days? *She jumps forward to try and catch him off guard*

*Clea intercepts and throws a fireball at the woman.*

Clea: *Her eyes glow purple and her voice deepens.* You will leave this man alone, harlot. He is under my protection.

*The Ancient One summons her fan shaped mandalas and easily bats away the fireball*

Ancient One (scowling): I have waited far too long for the reign of Stephen Strange and it seems I have wasted too much of my life on someone who could not live up to his true potential.

*Stephen casts the Rings of Raggadorr in an attempt to box her in, refusing to reply.  He doesn’t want to give The Ancient One more fuel.*

*She notices that he hasn’t refuted her and smirks instead.*

Ancient One (mocking): Tell me, did you ever get the hang of this?

*With a sweep of her arm, the room cascades into a kaleidoscope of images of itself as they are sucked into the Mirror Dimension, only it seems a lot more powerful than it is on Earth*

*Having learned his lesson from the last mistake he made involving the Mirror Dimension, Stephen decides to use this cast to his advantage and disorient her with sheer chaos.*

Stephen:  By the Images of Ikonn!  *He gestures and over a dozen duplicates of himself spread wide, surrounding his master, their reflections appearing in every facet of their new location.  They make a coordinated effort to swarm her from every conceivable direction.  To top it off, these multiple Stranges proceed to simultaneously cast the Chains of Krakkan, conjuring meters upon meters of chains, quickly wrapping themselves around her body like a nest of snakes.*

*She lets out a frustrated scream and attempts to fight out of it but it appears she is stuck.*

Ancient One (growling): You should not even be here. The Dread Dormammu has kept to his word. *She is slowly losing her composure as the mark on her forehead begins to glow even more, going from a dark red and slowly turning black and emitting smoke*

Stephen:  I have fulfilled my end of the bargain as well.  Now, his threat to other worlds shall end here.  *He prepares to conjure Dyzakk’s Cage to contain her, his face not triumphant, but hollow.  The mage had never wanted things to end this way between them.*

*She struggles even harder, glaring at Stephen but then smirks. Instantly, the void where her eyes used to be begins to glow a reddish orange as well as her mouth. Three beams of light instantly explode out of her, clearly intent to consume Stephen but at the last second, a golden shield appears in front of him. An orb of golden light seems to be keeping the protection in place. A familiar voice comes from it.*

Golden Orb: Stephen, both you and your girlfriend need to use a purification spell immediately on me.

*Stephen recognizes the voice instantly, albeit a part of him is slightly irked by the teasing.  He barely even knows this woman yet!  That aside, he beckons to Clea.*

Stephen:  Clea, come here and repeat after me.

*Clea is admittedly surprised, but she knows he needs her. So she nods and goes to stand next to him, holding out her hands.*

*He recalls an appropriate spell, guiding Clea through the incantation and gestures.*

Stephen:  Audite Mihi, Ancient Phasmatis, quod succurro is Turbatus Animus.

*He gestures deliberately and precisely, concentrating on the form of the Ancient One bound before them.*

*The blind Ancient One shrieks and hisses in agony as smoke starts to billow out of her as she almost begins to shrink into herself, the chains falling off of her as she shifts into an orb as well. Meanwhile, the golden orb that had shielded Stephen begins to form into her full form, albeit looking like she’s in her astral state. She is unmarked and smirks at what her other self has become.*

*Stephen watches, relief washing over him.*

Stephen (respectfully):  Ancient One.  *He greets her.*

Ancient One (proudly): Stephen. *She turns to him with a wide smile on her face* You’ve grown.

Stephen (taken aback by her words):  Thank you.  *He’s quietly moved.*  I guess this is a more proper goodbye?  

Ancient One: Perhaps. We will speak again, but for now I believe you have more important matters to attend to, Sorcerer Supreme. *She smirks and steps to the side so they can pass*

Stephen:  Thank you for protecting me one last time, Master.  *He bows for once and passes by her respectfully, Clea following him.  As he leaves the room, he glances back curiously.*

*There’s no trace of The Ancient One except for a small shimmer of light where she was once standing, but it could be a trick of the light…*

Stephen:  Clea, continue to lead the way.

Clea: *She nods.* Right.

*They storm their way through the many levels of the Keep, fending off varying shapes and sizes of Mindless Ones.  Stephen binds a large group of them together and flings them into the endless abyss of the dimension.  They float aimlessly away.  Stephen and Clea eventually reach a foreboding-looking door.  Despite his best efforts, Stephen can’t get it open no matter what spells he uses.*

Clea: I’m afraid that won’t work, Doctor. You’ll need to be of faltinian blood to open the door.

Stephen:  Very well.  Do the honors.  *He gestures to the door.*

*They burst through only to find a vast study with the layout of a War Room.  There is a large map of the multiverse lying open on a table in the middle of the chamber, along with bookshelves lining the walls filled with books from the many worlds that the warlord has consumed.  Stephen looks at the map and a flash of dread streaks through him.  His suspicions were confirmed.  Dormammu has targeted OUR unguarded Earth and, judging by the empty study and fading aura, is already on his way there.*

Stephen:  Shit!

Clea: What is it? 

*From outside, a large cheer arises from the remaining mindless ones as their leader has declared their newest target for conquest. Judging from the large amount of energy and the dwindling sounds, it seems Dormammu is finishing transporting his remaining army right now while Stephen has been busy fighting in the keep. Despite Stephen and Clea’s best efforts, it seems the war for Universe-333 is about to unfold.*

Stephen (to Clea):  He has already begun his invasion…

Clea: *She’s silent, completely shocked at the thought of her uncle unleashing his power upon another unsuspecting world. But…* We can stop him.

Strange:  We must find a way.  What do you have in mind?

Clea: I haven’t gotten that far, but I wonder…Are you familiar with the flames of the faltine?

Stephen:  I am, yes.

Clea: I’m not sure if it would work, but if you use that power against Dormammu, learn to engulf yourself in its power, you may stand a better chance against him.

*He thinks for a moment.*

Stephen:  Hmmm…Interesting.  Yes, that may work.  Anything else before we pursue him?

Clea: *She smiles.* Your mentor called you Stephen…Is that your name?

Stephen:  Erm..Yes.  *He figures that they’ve gone this far.  He can begin to let down his guard at least a little bit.  The sorcerer prepares to open a portal to our universe.*  Ready, Clea?

Clea: Of course. Any chance to take to best my “loving” Uncle.

*They hurriedly advance through the portal.*

*The sky is a stormy dark purple as they step through the portal back into our universe. Things are eerily still and way too quiet, as if even the wind and nature itself is holding its breath.*

*Stephen can already sense Dormammu’s presence.*

Stephen:  We need to move.  Now.  *He uses his Cloak of Levitation to fly alongside Clea towards the spot where Dormammu has mounted his invasion force.*

Clea: This is bad! He’s amassed an even greater army than the last universe he invaded. 

*Stephen’s heart sinks even further, as if it had anywhere lower to go.  However, he knows that he has to fight to save our universe or die trying.  He steels himself once more.*

Stephen (bravely):  Then I shall put in my most momentous effort to match his power.  

Clea: Alright. Just be careful; the flames can incinerate you if you aren’t careful.

*He nods.  Meanwhile, they hear a familiar booming voice.  It’s so incredibly potent that it can be felt.  Not only that, but everyone on Earth can hear the voice, not just around them, but within their very skulls.*

Dormammu: Puny humans. I am the Dread Dormammu and this world and universe is now mine. For those who would rather surrender to my forces immediately and spare themselves a horrid death, you have twenty-four earth hours to join me. For those who do not, you will be consumed for the betterment of the Dark Dimension. You have been warned…

Stephen (to Clea):  I must report back my findings and make any additional preparations.  If there is anything else you can think of, I’m ready to listen.

Clea: Not at the moment, no. But I’ll let you know if I think of anything, Stephen.

*Stephen hates having to report back, but this event is beyond the pale.  He needs more backup whether he admits it or not.  So, he portals with Clea back to the Marvel universe.*

*We see a portal open and two figures step out.  Stephen is pale and looks like he’s about to drop some very bad news.*

Stephen (serious):  Girls, our suspicions are confirmed.  Dormammu has mounted an invasion force on your planet and we have a bit less than 24 hours to prepare for battle.  I’m calling for back-up from the Order and readying any potentially useful relics.  *He seems about ready to fall over.  We can tell that he has already been fighting a lot.*

Me (small voice):  No…Our families.  Our friends.  *My voice steadily getting louder as I speak faster*  I know you don’t want us there, but we HAVE to do something.  We HAVE to help!  Please, Stephen!  We can’t let him kill you and everyone else we love!  

*The idea of losing more people has triggered me.  That and knowing that Stephen doesn’t have the Time Stone to help him anymore.  Not to mention that the other Avengers are spread thinly enough between protecting their own world and ours.  I know damn well that Dormammu is on a whole new level, just as bad if not even worse than Thanos.  Thinking about all of this has caused me to spiral.  I’m trying not to completely break down.  My hands are shaking badly as I suck in several labored breaths in a futile attempt to curtail the incoming panic attack.*

Trix (trying to be level headed): Listen, we have 24 hours to evacuate people and to get a plan together. Right now we need to help Stephen before he collapses. 

Prettywitch: Good idea. *She walks over to Stephen and places her arms around his shoulders.* Hey, Stephen. Why don’t you sit down for a bit and relax. We can make some tea.

*Hearing my shouting has gotten Wong’s attention.  He leaves the library at a quick jog to find the girls and Stephen with a new woman clad in purple.  Her energy signature doesn’t seem to match either universe, but it does feel very similar to Dormammu’s.*  

Wong:  So, it is true?  I will gather our forces.  Strange, you rest.  You look dead on your feet.

Stephen:  I don’t have time for any of that.  

Wong:  Yes, you do.  You cannot fight anything if you’re barely running on fumes.  *He’s stern.*

Trix: Honestly Stephen, this is what having us, Wong, and the rest of the Order is for. This is absolutely scary but we have to keep calm. *Her resolve is stronger*

Me (attempting to ground myself, but still shaking very badly):  Y-Yeah…Please.  Rest so you can be at y-your b-best strength...  *I have sweat stains starting to form and try to sit down, but instead, faint.  My astral form emerges involuntarily and I just stare at my empty body in horror.  I try to get back in, but can’t, waving my arms through myself ineffectually.*

Ancient One (out of nowhere): Calm yourself, Apprentice. You’re winding yourself up too much to think.

*My astral form lets out a squeak of surprise.*

Me (astral form):  How long were you here?  I-I didn’t s-see you in Kamar-Taj the entire time I’ve been training here.  *Her appearance has at least shocked me out of my panic attack.*

Ancient One (amused): I had prior engagements unfortunately, not of my own choosing mind you. Stephen was able to assist in pulling myself back together as it were. Now I am here to help you do the same as your freak out has started up his fear of lack of control. *She glances over at Stephen*

*I look ashamed of myself, but also still incredibly worried.  If I wasn’t in an astral form at the moment, I probably would have thrown up.*

Ancient One: I see you follow in your master’s footsteps in that you must learn to let go. Alas, I lack the ability to send you to Everest but there are more important things afoot. *She floats over to Stephen and gestures at him* In order to help him, you must focus on the present and address things one at a time and breathe.

Me (quietly):  I know that everyone’s got dead people…I try to remember that…I have 11 of them.  Buried 11 of them.  This applies to everyone, but I don’t know how many more I personally can take…

Ancient One: And yet, the universe decided to bestow upon you the gift to shift the veil of death. You are luckier than most because you are incapable of truly losing anyone now if you choose to see it that way.

Me:  I suppose that’s a way of looking at it, yeah…I nearly died several times myself.  Stephen was hypothesizing that my repeated near-death experiences have something to do with it.

Ancient One (smirks): He would. He’s rather logical that way. I can sense you are very similar so let me ask you this: if you’re going to help him, what will you do next? Of course saving innocents is always prioritized but what will you do? How can you…pull yourself together *she smiles to herself* to help the people you care about so deeply?

Me:  I suppose the best move would be to track down some of the relics that he’s looking for and maybe a few tomes.  Work while he rests so things are ready ahead of time.

Ancient One: Good. He’s diligent enough to know where your people are, all of them, so trust that they will be safe. You need to focus on solving the bigger picture so the smaller details are solved in the tidal wave of change. Now you just have to commit. *In a very familiar move, she pushes Steward back into her body*

*I shudder back into consciousness, the tears from earlier still staining my face.  Though I’m suddenly calmer and more back to my old self.*

Me (not giving anything away, but with resolve):  Stephen, you can go ahead and rest.  I’ll gather some appropriate tomes and relics.  They’ll be ready as soon as you’re awake again.

*Stephen looks confused and concerned.*

Stephen:  Steward, what just happened?  

Trix (shocked): Are you- okay? Did you just pass out?!

Prettywitch: Yeah, you looked like you zoned out there for a minute.

*Wong gives me a weird look, wondering silently about the sudden mood change after that brief collapse.*

Me:  Y-Yeah…I kinda do that now when I get overly stressed.  I just involuntarily astral-projected.  Sorry for scaring you.  *I shift uneasily.*

Trix: Okay… *She’s confused but things have been weirder lately* It looks like you’re getting better at it then…

Prettywitch: I’ll say!

*I grin sheepishly at them.*

*Wong makes a suspicious noise.  He’s not sure exactly what’s going on, but seems to think I’m hiding something.*

Stephen:  …If you’re sure that you’re okay, then fine.  *He’s wary, but seeing as everyone is urging him to rest, he reluctantly acquiesces, heading to his quarters.  To be honest, he’s just as anxious, if not even more so than we are, but he can’t bring himself to admit that.  The situation is bad enough without multiple people teetering on the brink.  He knows that failure isn’t an option here and he needs to get control of the situation before it gets even worse.*

Trix (realizing just who is also here):  Hey Stephen, who’s this? *she grins*

*He pauses just as he was about to exit the doorway of the courtyard.*

Stephen:  Eh?  *He makes an awkward realization*  Ah, yes!  *He briskly walks back over for a moment.*  Clea, these are my apprentices; Steward, Prettywitch, and Trix.  The man you see wearing the elaborate robes is Wong, Kamar-Taj’s librarian.  This complex you see around you is Kamar-Taj itself, the main headquarters of the Order.  Welcome to Earth-616.  

Clea: *She waves, sweetly.* It’s nice to meet all of you.

Trix: Hi Clea! Horrible circumstances to meet in, but absolutely glad to meet you!

Me (polite):  Hello, Clea.  Nice to finally meet you.

Prettywitch: Clea! *She wraps her in a big, tight hug.* Oh! It’s so nice to finally meet you!

Clea: *She chuckles, awkwardly.* Likewise… *She pats Prettywitch’s head affectionately, anyway. So as to indicate she’s not offended.*

Wong:  We will get better acquainted with Clea while you rest, Strange.  Now go.  *He’s firm.*

*Stephen shoots him an annoyed, but resigned look as he retreats to his quarters.*

Me (composed):  Okay.  Guys, let’s organize.  Trix, stand by and I’ll forward info about some relics that may be helpful to Stephen in this fight.  I’ll look for the appropriate tomes.  Prettywitch, relay between Trix and me so we can keep everyone updated on who has what.  Wong, if you have any advice, please help us in any way possible.

Trix (serious): Got it!

*Whatever happened when I fainted, I seem to have really squared up and stepped back in as leader.*

*We agree to our roles and split up to work efficiently, gathering info and relics.  I’m still worried sick, but I know it won’t help.  Instead, I drive myself to work even harder to purge that fear from my mind temporarily.*

Wong (checking on Trix):  How is your control over your abilities now?  Are you holding up decently?

Trix: I’m doing a lot better, especially with reading. It’s hearing a lot of different languages at once that can trip me up but I feel like I have to build up a tolerance for it.

Wong:  Good.  Now, what relics are you currently searching for?  I can point you in the right direction.

Trix: Honestly, I am not as familiar with specific relics like the others are because they know more of the specific magic to this world and I knew more of what was in the movies and I couldn’t study in here because y’know. *she points at her head* I think what I’m looking for is something that can either give Stephen a power boost without significant drawbacks or something to keep his stamina up. *She turns to Wong* I don’t want Stephen to die again to Dormammu. It was bad enough to see it and just think he was a character. I’m honestly terrified that Dormammu is real knowing just what he’s capable of.

Wong:  Judging by your friend’s reaction, I can see that you all know of him.  Here.  *He turns to a dusty old cabinet and opens it.  There is a pair of glaives inside.*  The Pincers of Power.  These are effective against a being from the Dark Dimension.  They are a known weapon used in duels there.  Bring them to the courtyard.  

*Her eyes light up*

Trix: I have a question. *She picks up the glaives* Is there some way to boost a relic’s power, even temporarily? I know we’re able to transfer our energy to Stephen though that spell was actually from our world. Could that work for relics as well?

Wong:  Energy, yes.  Relics…I am not sure.  We have not recovered any relics from your world to determine whether or not they are compatible.  As for energy transfers from you three to our relics, it seems to work better between living beings.  Now is not the best time to take such risks.  If it fails now, then there will not be a way to undo it, nor time to save your universe.

Trix: Fair enough. *She turns to go to the courtyard but looks back over her shoulder* Can I come back and look for useful spells too?

Wong:  You may.  

*I’m rooting through more books and reference materials, looking for anything that might be remotely useful.*

Ancient One (curious): What exactly are you searching for?

Me:  I remember the Book of Cagliostro and the rituals contained therein…Does it have a counterpart?  Anything that counteracts its rituals?  A tome that has spells that can neutralize magic based from the Dark Dimension?

Ancient One (frowns): If there was, it would be in the possession of Dormammu in his Keep. That type of knowledge is guarded well, hence why the Book of Cagliostro was so safeguarded. As for spells to counter the magic from the Dark Dimension, I would begin with anything pertaining to introducing new things to someone who hasn’t experienced things before such as when Stephen introduced the concept of time. My memory is muddled from my time in the dark dimension so I am not of much help at the moment as I still collect myself.

*I listen intently and hear a few key details, remembering what Stephen and Clea reported to us earlier.  A devious grin, filled with chipped and cracked teeth spreads across my face.  It’s clear that a scheme is beginning to hatch.*

Ancient One (smirks): Ah, I see now why Wong and Stephen are dealing with a handful along with your friends. I’m curious as to how you solve the riddle of defeating an undetectable enemy though it does seem more likely now more than ever.

Me (purring slightly):  Admittedly, during our last rescue plan for my friend Trix, I helped in the heist and blew up the protective runes in a witch’s cabin…with said witch still inside.  It was…an experience.

Ancient One (curious): A witch? They don’t reveal themselves often. 

Me:  Stephen was admittedly a bit concerned when he learned about my lockpicking and experience with explosives.  That and the taser trap setup…That aside, I should check notes with Clea to confirm a few things to get this potential plan underway.

*The Ancient One hums in agreement and floats off further into the library*

*I let her be and scurry off to find Clea.*

Me:  Clea!  Erm, mind if I ask a few questions?  I need a bit of info for a plan.

Clea: Oh, certainly.

Me:  Thank you.  Okay, Dormammu is NOT currently in his Keep, right?

Clea: No; he is currently in your world and has given it a day's time before he launches his assault.

Me:  You and Stephen also dealt with most of his guards there?  Are there many left protecting the Keep?

Clea: Probably not; whatever Mindless Ones Dormammu had left he probably took them with him to your earth.

Me:  Okay, good to know…Hmmm…Do you know where he keeps any books?

Clea: *She cups her face, thoughtfully.* Now that you mention it, Dormammu does have a study deep in his keep. There’s tons of archival knowledge and magics in there. 

*My grin widens.*

Me:  Perfect, perfect…Do you know how to get in?

Clea: I don’t know, he never let me in. Hell, all of my best spies couldn’t even get in.

Me (my grin fades):  Crud.  Okay, we’ll have to think of something.  A way to bypass the locks, perhaps.  Do you remember anything more about it?

Clea: I glimpsed it once when I was a child; I remember it being a circular room with a desk in the middle surrounded by shelves of books and scrolls dating back to the old days.

Prettywitch: So it’s basically a book nerd’s reading room?

Clea: *Stares at her, confused.* I don't know what you mean by “nerd” but yes, it is a reading.

Prettywitch: Hmmm, I wonder…Clea, would you be interested in performing a heist.

Clea: What? To raid my uncle’s study…? Well, we do need a way to beat him. *She shrugs.* I say it’s worth a shot.

Prettywitch: Yes!

Trix (walking back into the library): Wait- did you just say we’re doing a heist?! *She gets excited before her mood drops again* There’s no way we’re going to be allowed to sneak out to Dormammu’s literal house to steal from him. We’re going to give Stephen an aneurism.

Prettywitch: Well, we don’t necessarily have to tell him.

Clea: *She grins.* Normally, I’d protest but Stephen does seem to be under a lot of stress. It’s probably better for him to stay here for now.

Prettywitch: Exactly! He can be a mother hen later!

Clea: Mother hen…?

Prettywitch: I’ll explain later.

Trix: Basically he worries about us. Constantly. Which is nice, of course, but it can be overwhelming.

Clea: *She giggles.* That’s cute! *She blushes a little.*

*While we’re talking, Wong suddenly appears behind us.*

Wong: Why did my ‘they are planning something incredibly stupid’ sense start acting up? One would have thought you three would have learned by now. *He frowns at us.*

Me:  Well…It didn’t necessarily fail last time.  Though we had help.  *I look sheepishly at him, reminding him of the rescue mission we did for Trix.*

PrettyWitch: It was my idea!

Trix: I just got here but I want to heist! I’ve never heisted before!

*Wong looks at us disapprovingly.*

Wong:  After all of what you have experienced, you ladies still have such a cavalier attitude about this?

Trix: Y’know, that’s pretty interesting you say that because you go out and do a lot of your own fighting despite everything that’s happened.

*Prettywitch and I realize what she’s implying and look back at Wong, amused.*

Wong (abruptly cutting Trix off, knowing that Clea is literally right there):  What I do in my spare time is nobody else’s business.  *He gives Trix a look and subtly slips her $100 with an expression indicating for her to shut up.*

Trix: *she grins and pockets the $100* We’ll talk later.

Wong:  *He sighs.*  Besides what you remember from those comics and movies, which have spotty accuracy at best, by the way, do any of you know anything about the perils within the Dark Dimension?

Trix (disappointed): No…

Wong (gruff):  Then you three will need at least one responsible sorcerer to keep you in one piece.  Normally, I do not advocate for such reckless practices, but these are extenuating circumstances.  I will accompany you.

Me:  Hmm…Well, I suppose if we’re going to rob the Dread Dormammu, we should call someone else in with some experience in heists.  *I give the other two women a knowing look and pull out my phone.*

*I call Scott.*

Me (on the phone):  Hey, Scott.  We have a really intense heist in the works.  Do you want in?

Scott (on the phone):  Wait, you mean now!?

Me (on the phone):  Yeah.  This evil interdimensional warlord named Dormammu’s trying to consume our home universe and already sent an invasion force there.  He’s super-powerful and tried to wipe out Stephen several times.  Succeeded too, but the Time Stone brought him back while it still existed.  Complicated story.  Anyway, since he isn’t home, we’re planning to raid his place for anything that could be used to counter him because we’re low on the right tools to defend our home.  Can you help us out or are you busy?  It’s okay if you are, but if you at least had any advice, we’d love to hear it.

Scott (on the phone): Well, that’s great, but…(Looks over at Hope setting up the Twister gameboard) I kinda already made plans with someone…

Me (on the phone):  Okay.  Well, thanks anyway.  We’ll try to figure something out.  Sorry for disturbing you!

Scott (on the phone): No! Wait! Let me talk to Hope, alright?

Me (on the phone):  You sure?  We don’t wanna intrude.

Scott (on the phone): Yeah. I’m sure she’ll understand-

Hope: Scott? (He looks at her.) Everything okay?

Scott: (He thinks it over for a moment.) I’m gonna put you on hold. (He presses the hold button and puts on his best “charm the pants off of face” on.) So, long story short-

Hope: Your friends need you, don’t they?

Scott: (Is silent for a moment.) Well…yeah, basically. 

Hope: (She smiles and gets up.) Alright, let’s go.

Scott: Wait, really!? But what about-

Hope: I know you, it’ll eat away at you for the rest of the night now let’s go. 

Scott: Huh? Okay. (He presses the hold button, again.) We’ll be there in an hour. (he hangs up and grins at Hope as they make their way to the lab.) So, I guess Date Night’s now Heist Night, huh?

Hope: (She rolls her eyes, mildly annoyed.) Oh, don’t start.

(Scott laughs.)

*When Scott hangs up, I look at Trix and Prettywitch.*

Me:  He’s in.  Judging by the “We’ll be there in an hour”, I think we might meet Hope.

Trix: This heist is going to be awesome.

Prettywitch: Nice.

Clea: Are you sure this is a good idea? The Dark Dimension is perilous enough for magic users, let alone two ordinary humans,

Wong:  Hence, why I will accompany the group.  I will keep you all out of trouble.  All of you, stay close to me and/or Clea when we go.

Me:  Yes, Sir.

Trix: Don’t worry, you can’t get rid of us! *She smiles but plans on sticking close to Wong*

Prettywitch: Yeah, you’re pretty much stuck with us at this point, dude.

Me:  Clea, can you sketch out a rough map of the Keep so we know where we’re going?

Clea: Certainly. (She levitates a pen from the desk to her hand and, with one stroke bursts forth a lovely drawing of her Uncle’s Keep. Clea taps the drawing so it becomes see-through.) Alright, so the keep is located here, in the upper left wing. Dormammu always has Mindless Ones roaming about, guarding it, so we’ll need to find another way in. (She smiles.) Fortunately, I know another way in. (She points down to the room just underneath the Keep.) Dormammus’ palace has many hidden rooms and corridors within it in case of invasion, we can use them and the catacombs below the Keep to conceal ourselves.

*I listen intently, taking notes on my small notepad that I keep in my purse.  I use it for stuff I want to keep private since it doesn’t get saved to the cloud that way and I can destroy the evidence more easily.*

Me:  Will the Mindless Ones automatically alert Dormammu if they somehow detect us?  *I want to cover everything just in case.*

Clea: Yes. Though how long it will take for Dormammu to travel from one dimension to another I can’t say.

Me:  Destroying them would silence them before they can alert him or no?

Clea: Yes, but it would be impossible to silence all of them before Dormammu comes back.  

Me:  How good is their eyesight?  *I’m hoping that maybe shrinking will help so they can’t see us.*

Clea: From what I know they can see, but their vision seems to be impaired somewhat. So long as we don’t get too close to any of them, we should be good.

Me (satisfied):  Good.  *I take note of this.*

Wong:  I will run some final checks on equipment.  Stay put.  *He goes to get the Sing Rings and some other supplies.*

Trix: Could a backup plan for when Stephen goes after Dormammu is to draw him back into the Dark Dimension as a trap using the Mindless Ones ‘catching’ one of us sneaking in?

Me:  Possibly.  If Plan A fails.

Clea: It would still be risky. It would work, though.

Trix: We could look into spells that could create an illusion of us so we wouldn’t put ourselves in the line of fire but it’d be good to have a backup plan.

Me:  Smart.  *I grin.*

Trix (whispering): I just don’t want Wong or Stephen to kill us for drawing attention to ourselves. Also, Dormammu is terrifying.

*I shrug in agreement.*

*I subtly peer around for a second just to see if The Ancient One is around listening or watching.*

*The Ancient One reveals herself to the entire group and is looking as calm and collected as always*

Ancient One: You have some pretty clever ideas to give as many opportunities for success to Stephen as possible.

*I’m surprised that she decided to greet the group and take a step back to give her some respectable space.*

Me:  Guys, meet The Ancient One.  She’s been with me for a few hours now.  From what I know, Stephen helped her back in the Dark Dimension earlier.  *I give her a respectful bow now that she’s showing herself.  I figure it’s the polite thing to do.*

Trix (surprised): Oh! Hello! It’s an honor! *she quickly slips into a bow*

Prettywitch: Uh…Yeah; nice to meet you.

Me (respectful):  Do you have any other advice for us?

Ancient One: Stay close to one another. It is incredibly easy to be drawn in by the Dark Dimension. Especially where Dormammu holds the most power. Other than that, rob him blind. *She smiles a serene smile*

Me (grinning):  I like your style, Ancient One.

Ancient One (bobbing her head in acknowledgement): Not many of the masters did, unfortunately. Good luck to all of you. *She disappears once more*

*Wong comes back, his eyes narrow when he sees the looks on our faces.*

Wong (suspicious):  …What are you doing?

Trix (rather dumbfounded): Rewriting my worldview. Again. But apparently we received a blessing of good faith.

Prettywitch: (starts snickering.)

Me:  It’s unlikely that you’d believe this one.

Wong:  Try me.  

Trix: Ghost of The Ancient One showed up and advised us to “rob Dormammu blind”. Then disappeared again. Oh yeah and to not wander off.

*Wong gives us all a hard stare before sighing and shaking his head.*

Wong (resigned):  Well, she will reveal herself to me if she sees fit.  

*In the meantime, we see Scott and Hope walking into the courtyard.*

Scott: Hey guys! Hope we’re not too late.

Prettywitch: Actually, we were just discussing how we were gonna get in.

Me:  Yeah.  Clea here drew up a map of the Keep and gave us some really good information.  *I give an introductory gesture for Scott and Hope to meet her.*

Clea: Nice to meet you. I’m Clea.

Scott: Clea, huh? Well, I’m Scott and this is my partner, Hope.

Hope: Nice to meet you.

Me:  *Polite*  Thank you both for coming out on such short notice, by the way.  Sorry for interrupting things.  *Getting to business*  Here’s the info we have so far.  *I show them the notes.*

Scott: So, we’re dealing with a heist inside of a fortress? That’s gonna be an interesting challenge.

Hope: Is this on earth, or in another universe?

Clea: Other dimension, actually.

Me:  Since the guards have poor eyesight and there might be some gaps to squeeze through, we thought it would be a good idea to ask you guys for your expertise on this heist.  We need to break into the library here.  *I point on the map.*  It’s well-protected and holds a bunch of books and tools we could use to counter Dormammu.  *We show them both the map Clea drew.*

Scott: That should work fine. Do you know if these guys have any weaknesses?

Hope: Something that’ll help us in case we’re in a bind.

Me:  Besides the bad eyesight thing?  Hmmm…

Clea: Well, they are slow. (She grins.) We’d still need to plan accordingly though.

Prettywitch: Why?  Is it because they can overpower you if it’s a group of them?

Clea: Yes.

Wong:  We will need to use stealth, then.

Me:  Anything else to know or should we get going?

Clea: Just one thing; keep your guard up at all times in the Dark Dimension and follow my lead. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. Is that clear?

Me:  Yes, Clea.  Got it.

Trix: Absolutely!

Prettywitch: Of course.

Clea: (She smiles.) Good.

Me:  Ready, Scott and Hope?

Scott: Yup!

Hope: Yup!

*Wong opens a portal into the Dark Dimension and we head in.  Seeing as this is the first time in the Dark Dimension for most of the group, with the exceptions of Wong and Clea, it’s rather disorienting.  Gravity is wonky.  Things are either floating or seem to have their own gravity fields.  Even the colors and light here have different properties.  It seems both fast and sluggish simultaneously seeing as there is an absence of time here.  Not only that, but some objects appear to be organic that shouldn’t be or inorganic yet alive.  It takes a moment for the group to get their bearings.*

Me (green around the gills):  Ergh…Trippy…

Trix: Okay, this is simultaneously awesome and terrifying at the same time. 

Prettywitch: No kidding…

Scott: God! It feels like we’re back in the Quantum Realm.

Hope: I don’t know; Quantum Realm at least had some science to it. This? I don’t think we can make heads or tails of this place.

Wong: Stay close.  Even with the absence of most of his Mindless Ones, Dormammu has eyes and enforcers everywhere.

Clea: Exactly. Now follow my lead! We don’t have much time.

*The group follows Clea closely towards the Keep.  I use a mixture of manually pushing/pulling myself along with objects and some rudimentary telekinesis since we’ve been learning those abilities in our sorcery training.*

*Scott finds himself having some issues floating through the gravity of the Dark Dimension and so resorts to breast-stroking his way towards the Keep.*

*Hope uses her wings to fly through the empty space. She chuckles at Scott’s swimming, finding it amusing.*

*Prettywitch is initially floating but upon seeing that Scott has taken up swimming, she decides she’d rather do that and begins kicking her legs like she’s in water.*

*Trix decides to use a different approach and floats with occasional magical pushes forward and acts as if it’s like space gravity. It seems to be doing well and occasionally uses objects floating by to push off of*

Trix: God, I’m so jealous of Stephen and the Cloak right now.

Prettywitch: I’m not! 

Me:  Definitely would have been nice to have Levi.  It would help with movement here.

*An odd, spiky-looking being passes by.  Whatever it is, it appears to have multiple primitive eyes on its many stalks surrounding its body.*

Clea: Quick! Everyone, hide behind that rock formation!

*The various group members do so.  Though it’s quite awkward to move still.*

*It pauses and there is a…sniffing noise?  Though we can’t see the thing’s nose at all, if it even has one.  There is an ominous humming noise for a second before it makes a small, satisfied-sounding chirp and continues on its way.*

Trix (puzzled but whispering): Why did that thing look familiar for some reason?

Wong:  You don’t want to know, trust me.

Me (realizing in horror):  Oh God…I recognize those eyes.  They’re in the fridge back in Kamar-Taj’s kitchen…

Trix: Welp. I’m crossing those off the menu. Forever. I want to know nothing about our diet now. I don’t even check calories on normal food, I’m not looking for more info for magic food either.

Prettywitch: Yeah, me neither! What the fuck!?

Clea: *She’s confused.* You mean you’ve actually eaten these creatures before?

Me (disgusted):  Apparently.

Trix: Wong, what the fuck?!

Wong (matter-of-factly):  It is necessary for us sorcerers to take in magical energy and have internal stores…If there was another way, I would much prefer a tuna melt.

Scott: Yeah, but should’ve told them where these things came from! 

Clea: The Ant-man is right, Wong! They’re still in training for Vishanti’s sake!

Wong:  The initial transition was jarring enough.  I was planning to tell them eventually.

Ancient One (appearing only to Steward): Oh. Oops, I may have made a miscalculation and didn’t realize how it may have affected how Kamar-Taj was run.

*I give her a horrified look.*

Me (flatly):  WHAT.

Trix (startled): What?!

Ancient One: I may have started eating delicacies from other dimensions over the centuries and the kitchen tried to find things for my palate. I didn’t realize the rest of the sorcerers ate it as well as regular meals though if I was doing it and ending up powerful…

*I just listen numbly and stare at her, shaking my head.*

*Since I’m currently the only one who can see and hear The Ancient One at the moment, I appear to simply be staring at thin air with a “WTF” expression on my face.*

Wong:  What is it?

Me:  …The Ancient One literally started doing it to try delicacies from other dimensions.  Becoming powerful from it was apparently a side-effect and the other sorcerers just copied her.  *I look about ready to explode, but am containing myself.*

*Trix holds her head in her hands, lamenting the fact that they had to eat all that because of a misunderstanding*

Wong:  Then, does it actually treat magic-induced fatigue or have our remedies been incorrect the entire time?  *He’s surprised and more than a little irritated.*

Ancient One (sheepishly): Placebo effect perhaps? It was never really truly studied or at least by myself because I did not know that was the reason everyone else ate it. Either way, now is not the time to converse, you must get to the Keep!

*I forward her message to the group, seething quietly.*

Me (quiet and serenely to her, but with an icy tone):  We’ll have to discuss this more later.

*We get back to business and reach the Keep.  The group follows Clea.  It’s suspiciously quiet and empty.*

Wong (on-guard):  I don’t like this.  It cannot be this easy to infiltrate Dormammu’s Keep.

Clea: No, it’s not. Something’s definitely wrong… *She magics a dagger into her hand, just in case.*

Trix (hopeful): Maybe it’s because he took most of his forces to our world and you and Stephen took out a lot more before?

*Someone in the group steps on a tile and it sinks down slightly, suddenly triggering two walls of enchanted flames on either side of the hallway we’re in.  They begin to close in on us.*

Clea: Wong, throw up a shield!

*Wong casts the Shield of the Seraphim to protect the group.*

*Clea assumes her full faltine form and pushes the walls back.*

*There is a rumbling noise as the flames cease their advance before the floor opens up underneath everyone.*

*Hope activates her wings.*

*Wong releases his shield spell and quickly casts a levitation spell.  Though he can only hold it for so long.  Any sorcerer can levitate, but the constant concentration and fight with gravity wears one down quickly.*

*Clea straightens her posture to levitate.*

*I attempt to use telekinesis again since we haven’t learned advanced levitation spells quite yet.  A vein throbs in my temple from the strain.*

*Scott throws two shrinking discs towards Prettywitch and Trix, shrinking them. Then he shrinks himself and whistles for AnToinette, who comes soaring towards her friend. He mounts her and picks up the girls.*

Scott: Everybody okay?

Prettywitch: I think so…Thanks, Scott. That was awesome.

Trix (dazed): I think so! I was not expecting that…thanks!

*I can’t speak.  Concentrating too hard.*

Wong:  I am going to release my levitation spell and conjure some platforms.  Aim for those and we can get back up.  

*Beads of sweat are beginning to form on his forehead as he continues to cast.  Wong falls a few feet before he can cast the platform spell, but they provide enough of a ledge to help the group members back up.  When I stop concentrating, I fall onto a platform and almost slip, but manage to stabilize enough to get up.  Though thanks to the strain from telekinesis, I feel like my head is about to split in half.  Wong is composed, but is clearly working hard to help everyone up.  The walls of flame, although no longer moving, are still active.*

Trix: Okay, guess it’s trial by literal fire then. 

Scott: Hold on a second! I just need to make us big again…*He adjusts the belt and the three of them, and AnToinette are regular sized, again.* Okay, NOW you can go!

Trix (slightly dazed): Yeah, that feels weird. But let’s try this out!

*She conjures two decently sized crystal mandala shields on either side, blocking the fire for the moment*

Trix (strained): We gotta go!

Clea: Right! *She flies down and points towards the right.* This way! *She notices Trix running for her life and flies down to scoop her up in her arms.* 

*Wong maintains the platform spell as the group jumps back onto the hallway path to the right.*

Me (gulping down air from the sprint):  Everyone good?

*The crystal shields finally shatter apart into melted pieces*

Trix (panting): That didn’t go the way I thought it would but hey the shields held! *is doubled over but gives a thumbs up*

*Wong gives a short nod.  He’s covered in sweat, but remains calm.*

Prettywitch: You gonna be alright Wong?

Wong:  Yes.  We need to keep going.

Scott: Yeah, this place is starting to give me the creeps.

Hope: Lead the way, Clea.

Clea: Right. *She walks over to the wall.* There should be a door to the secret passageway here, but I can’t remember where it is.

Me:  Lemme try something.  Guys, hold me up.  *I’m going to astral-project to try and peer through the wall.*

Prettywitch: Okay. *She gets behind Steward.*

*I take a few deep breaths to get into a meditative state and then push my astral form out of my body.  Now that I’ve had it happen a few times involuntarily, read about it, and watched the more experienced sorcerers do it, I’ve picked up on the technique.  My empty body collapses and I peer through the wall that Clea is looking at.*

*Beyond the wall are about fifteen Mindless Ones, including the contingent originally from Earth-616, still being led by Kaecillius. They are merely standing there, blankly staring ahead at the wall Steward is peeking through.*

*I withdraw my head quickly and get back into my body with a shuddering gasp.*

Me:  I think we’re heading in the right direction.  There are around 15 Mindless Ones on the other side of that wall.  Some of them, I’m pretty sure are Kaecillius and his group of Zealots.

Wong:  Did you see any other passageways into the chamber?

Me:  It had two doors, but both are being watched.  Maybe we could shrink and sneak by since they can’t see well?  Provided we find the way in.

Scott: Yeah, that’s probably our best shot. *He starts pulling out the discs.* Alright everybody, just stand still for a moment. *He starts chucking the discs at everyone, shrinking his teammates, then himself.*

Clea: *She’s looking at herself and her surroundings.* This feels so strange.

Scott: Eh, you get used to it after awhile.

Trix: Does feeling woozy get better after a while as well or is that what fruit is for? *She’s feeling the effects but tries to shake it off*

Me (leaning against Trix to prop her up):  Lead the way, Clea.  The door is somewhere around here, right?

Clea: I’m pretty sure. *She floats up from where she was standing, still weirded out by, and fascinated by being so small. She begins looking for the lever and finds it quickly.* Oh, there it is. *She uses her strength as well as magic to open the door. * Follow me. *She flies into the passageway.*

*We follow, the herd of Mindless Ones and Zealots looming ominously before us.*

*Wong watches them carefully before gesturing for the group to quietly move forward, staying under objects or in shadows to be harder to see.*

*Like an army of toy soldiers, the group suddenly stands at attention. Scanning for threats, something has clearly caught their notice.*

*We quietly scamper under a cabinet to see if they calm down, watching carefully from our hiding spot.*

*After a very long couple of moments, the Mindless Ones seem to settle, relaxing into a more dormant state. With the previous traps being set off and no survivors coming through, it seems they believe the intruders have been taken care of. Slowly, they begin to shuffle out to join the rest of the ranks headed to Earth 333*

*As soon as they leave, we scamper through the rest of the hallway, checking for anything else that might be lurking around.*

Me (whispering to Clea):  Almost there?

Clea (whispering back): Yes. We should be approaching the doors soon.

*We follow her, picking up the pace.  Mercifully, we’re too small to set off other traps.  We do pass by several others and with our size, we can actually see the triggers.  We finally reach the doors, which are sealed with wards and a cursed-looking lock.*

Me:  Any ideas?

Prettywitch: I think I do. *She conjures the Cardcaptor Sakura staff, again. Then she conjures the Create Card.* (Whispering) Allow me to write something that will help me bypass the magic wards upon this door. Create! *The card activates and becomes a tiny book for Prettywitch to use, complete with a pen.* Day 1, I found myself walking inside Dormammu’s Keep inside the Dark Dimension till I found his study. I really wanted to go in,but I don’t know the spells for these wards! I wish I could just make them burn or rot away or something.

*The wards glow brightly.  Prettywitch’s book and pen burst into flames, wholly destroyed.  She can feel the conjured items burn away in her hands and her own energy reduce significantly from pouring her concentration into the conjuration.  The wards do dim considerably, weakened enough for Clea to finish them off.  However, then there’s the matter of the lock itself.  There is a whole different spell on it.*

Wong:  Hmm…*He looks at the lock.*  By the Omnipotent Oshtur, may the curse on this lock be broken!  *He casts at it and the lock zaps him right back, burning his fingers.*

Clea: Let me try. *She throws a burst of faltine magic at it; nothing. She pouts.* (whispering) Why must this be so convoluted!?

Me:  Hmmm…This is probably a very dumb idea, but lemme see…

*I pull out my lockpicks and try to jimmy the lock.  The tools get melted immediately and I drop them because they’ve started to glow red-hot.*

Me (quietly):  Wait…IDEA!  By the Icy Tendrils of Ikthalon…*I conjure some disembodied tendrils of ice and apply them to the lock.  They hiss and steam, but go inside.  I manage to undo the mechanism, weakening the curse.*

Wong (gritting his teeth subtly from pain):  I will try again.  *He casts his spell again, neutralizing what’s left of the curse on the lock.  Though he grunts as he pulls back, the rest of his hands burnt.*

Prettywitch: Here, let me try healing that. *She takes one of Wong’s hands in hers and massages it for a bit, trying to focus on wanting to heal Wong’s hands. She manages to get a small glow, but it’s still weak. It does seem to have worked for the moment.

*The older sorcerer clenches his teeth quietly, but the skin goes from second-degree burns to first-degree.  His hands are angry and red, but Wong can at least move his fingers again.*

Wong (to Prettywitch):  Thank you.

Prettywitch: *She beams.* You’re welcome.

Clea: *Smiles.* Not bad at all. You still have a long way to go, obviously, but you managed to remove enough damage that Wong can have use of his hands, again.

Prettywitch: Really!? That’s great! *Everyone shushes her, as she said it a bit louder than was necessary. She blushes, embarrassed.* (whispering) Sorry, that’s great!

*We are restored to normal size and look around Dormammu’s study.*

Me:  Okay.  As The Ancient One said, let’s rob him blind.  *I take off my backpack and open it wide for us to start cramming tomes and relics in.*

Trix: *She takes as much as she can grab with the bags she brought along. She’s extra careful before grabbing things to make sure they aren’t a trap or immediately harmful first*

*Wong can’t really grab anything, but he can still gesture to levitate several books off of the shelves for the group to take.  We ransack the study and check to see if there’s anything left that might be worth stealing.*

Clea: *She looks over at her Uncle’s table and makes a devilish grin. She flies up and checks if he’s reading any scrolls at the moment. Luckily, he was. So she rolls it up (more like kicks it into rolling up) and grabs it.* Okay, that’s the last thing I could find, now let’s go before someone sees us.

*I hoist the bag up.  Though it’s far too heavy for me to properly get it up and onto my back.  The seams are straining.*

*Clea creates a second bag for Steward to put stuff in.*

Me:  Thanks, Clea.

*I put half of the materials in the other bag and pick it up, letting one of the other group members carry the second bag.*

Me:  Can we portal out or should we actually leave the Keep?

Clea: We should be able to.

*Wong opens a portal back to Kamar-Taj and we sprint through.  The normal gravity, light, and other physics being both comforting and disorienting.*

Me:  How much time do we have left?

Trix: I honestly don’t know, going in there fucked up my watch profoundly. *She stares mournfully as the watch seems to be moving backwards*

*As we re-enter the courtyard, Stephen is walking over.  He looks at us with a mixture of suspicion and confusion.*

Stephen:  What were all of you doing?  

*He notices Wong holding his hands close to his body, silently nursing the remaining burns.*

Trix (freezes): Bonding?

Scott: Yeah. The girls called us up, said they needed a break and so we took them out shopping.

Hope: And to get their nails done. You know how it is.

Stephen (not believing them at all):  …and how did Wong burn his hands?

Wong (annoyed):  We gathered some useful tomes and relics for the battle.  That is all.  

Trix (trying to deflect): Hey, so did you know we don’t have to actually eat the creepy magic food? Apparently the Ancient One kinda messed that one up for everyone else by accident and didn’t realize it! *Trying to change the subject*

*Stephen glares for a moment and notices the bags.*

Stephen (putting two and two together now that he’s actually rested):  You went on a heist in the Dark Dimension, didn’t you?  

Me (knowing we’re caught):  Well, damn…Look, we found some material that could be useful.

Stephen:  I can’t trust any of you at all, can I?

Ancient One (appearing to everyone): You say that as if you wouldn’t have done the same thing if you had the chance.

Stephen (startled):  *Jumping back*  You advised them, then?

Ancient One:  Slightly. Wong took point however your apprentices truly did prove themselves. I was merely asked how they could help you and I suggested knowledge would be the key. *She smirks* I believe your apprentices seem to be amused by the fact that I approved of robbing him blind.

*He looks at her and then our group, softening slightly.*

Stephen (gruff, but reluctantly proud):  Don’t think that I approve of you sneaking around behind my back, but I’m grateful that you found the right books.  I’ll look them over and see what I can use.

*He accepts the bags full of tomes and relics from us.*

Stephen:  Oh, and Wong, go to the sickbay.  I know those burns are painful.  

*Wong acquiesces, leaving us with Clea, Scott, and Hope.*

Me (to the trio):  Thanks for helping us.

Trix: Yeah, we can’t let our self-sacrificing friend and mentor kill himself for our world so thanks for helping us help him!

Prettywitch: Yeah, we couldn’t have done it without you guys.

Clea: Oh, don’t worry about it.

Scott: Yeah, you guys are stuck with us, like it or not.

Hope: Besides, it was definitely a different Date Night.

Stephen:  Now you all get some rest.  It looks like you went to Hell and back.  *He glances at our disheveled and tired appearances.*  I’ll review the material and update everyone on what can be used in this fight.  *He turns to leave, but turns for a second.*  Thank you.  *He gives us a nod before dragging our plunder to the library.*

***To be continued.***

[marengogo]

QUICKIE - 3: Must Be Just Me …

Island - by Colde  [Love Part 2]

[Music is a very big part of my life and I’m MOSTLY INCAPABLE of writing without music, so I just thought I'd share what I am listening to while writing this]

🐺 — 🐺 — 🐺—

How’s everyone been? How are you enjoying Chapter 2? How is your Jikook-neck-of-the-woods fairing for you? Is it everything you were looking for? … *picks into some of the woods* … If so, I am happy for you but, NOT. GONNA. LIE. Some of y’all woods it feel like even just asking these simple questions might be potentially triggering 🤡.

I recall saying something akin to “live and let live” in my previous post → DEAR FUTURE BABY JIKOOKER, and I’d really love to do so, yet, I fear I must step on a toe, or two, because this “Jikook-Anxiousness” has reached my end-of-the-woods so, out of curiosity, I just had to know … I had to know if this quick thing I am about to talk about is all in my head, or if anyone out here has also the same perception as mine.

Before I get into all of that tho, remember when in this post → ME, MYSELF & JIKOOK, which I uploaded on January 12, I felt like we were going to not get any, “relevant” Jikook content for like 1076 days more or less? Somewhere in this post I also wrote

Please let that sink in and understand what this means.

… Well, we are 125 days in, and for some Jikookers, it doesn’t seem like this has either sunk in, nor has it been understood, in fact, it appears as if shit has already either being lost or hitting the fan hard. 

I can understand the anxiety out of lack of Jikook content, I can try and understand the anxiety out of lack of off-camera Jikook content, but the “I guess it was really fanservice / they must have broken up” in this CHAPTER-2-SOUTH-KOREA-LIVING-AND-BREATHING BTS economy is … I … 😩😩😩.

“They never meet”, “they don’t like each other anymore”, “He obviously doesn’t care / never cared” and all that shit … like, I’m not going to keep repeating myself but I am also very keen to understand how according to some of you a non confirmed, potentially gay couple, of great relevance, in a somewhat homophobic country should act?

That being said, let’s get back to what I quickly wanted to point out, which is the following. I quickly and roughly made this table concentrating on our boys activities in 2023 during chapter 2, with some exceptions:

Purple activity: Happened in 2022, but relevant to this person in their Chapter 2

Celebrity/Fame related: These are all names I tried to recall off the top of my head, most likely not accurate, but a gross approximation (so feel free to not take this part seriously at all)

Magenta activity: Is for those members who haven’t yet released anything for their chapter 2 … and then there is Namjoon who might be having a Chapter 2 pt.2?

I started doing this throwing in as much stuff as I could remember. The places where I put a P are my predictions (dark purple background is non-activity). As you keep looking at this table you’ll see that I didn’t even finish it, the magazine section is completely empty for example and as you might have noticed, I colored JK’s participation in Letter and his unconventional promotion of JM in a different color because other members have promoted JM but in a much more “conventional way”. THIS we all have noticed, and though it standouts in itself, regardless of the intended audience of Letter or the purpose behind JK going on a 1 hour JM binge - What JK did is NOT YOUR EVERYDAY RUN OF THE MILL BANGTAN OCCURRENCE. FIGHT ME.

The main thing that this table should sort of point out - DESPITE IT’S GROSS INACCURACY - is how it seems to be that for the most part, given that Jin was already gone before 2023, the tannies were sort of split in 2 groups of 3, like sort of subunits part of me feels like the way I’ve ordered them is the way they are going to go MS, I know, I put Joonie last … There is a method behind my madness, but it is worth pointing out that is indeed just MY madness, so for all we know Joonie could be the next to go:

JiYoonMin

NamTaeKook

Mind you, despite being the nonchalant kings we love them to be, they are still a force to be reckoned with and as such they have to do some serious planning of almost anything work related. By the looks of it, we are going to have a video from Jin for every important day of the year, or Disney Documentaries that will soon replace the memory of Disney Channel in our minds, etc, etc, etc … as I said: SOME SERIOUS FORWARD PLANNING.

Ironically enough the only thing that seems a bit off from the meticulous planning are all of JK’s lives, weverse post, and such and that ALSO should make you think a bit …🤡 . So all the, JM only mentioning Hobi and Yoongi as people he hangs out with the most, or JK hanging out with Tae a lot and Joon as really , AT THE VERY LEAST TO ME, is just so subunity, like … am I the only one, who, despite missing Jikook interactions, as I knew I would during this period, is not really worried at all? I really would love to know; really, just curious...

Always respectfully yours,

Marengo.

[starrbar]

Alright, I was encouraged by the smol family of HeroKel shippers on here, so now that I have my ass in order, here's the Headspace Abuse AU I spawned out of some horny energy last month. xD

CONTENT WARNINGS: Physical abuse, neglect, gaslighting(?), spiders, brocon/incest if you choose to see it ;3 Also spoilers for Omori!

If you stumble across this post as someone who despises this kind of content, I sincerely apologize for that. I don't intend to main-tag this, but I'm not 100% positive how tagging works on Tumblr anymore. The Read More should cover that though. Have a nice day!

In one of the playthroughs of Omori I really like, they have this ongoing joke where Kel is just bullied all the time, especially by Hero and Aubrey.  Every time Kel says anything, Hero says stuff like, "Kel, I'm going to BEAT YOU when we get home" or "Ohh Keeeel, I'm getting the BELT!!" and it's just met with Kel screaming, "NOOOO NOT AGAIN PLEASE!" and everyone's laughing about it and stuff.  And man, I'm REALLY not usually into any kind of incest kinks (just personally not my thing), but I'd lowkey be fine with an rp/fic where Hero just abuses Kel all the time and has him basically trained to obey and cower out of fear. x'D

Adding onto that, I also had so much fun with the Basil deaths in Black Space, so now I just imagine like Basil is the Kenny of the group, and he just dies horrible deaths all the time and comes back later, and no one even bats an eye beyond giggling or saying, "Oh wow, he's gonna feel that in the morning, tee hee!"

And then when Basil goes missing, Hero and Aubrey start putting Kel through a lot more shit because even they they don't really notice it, Basil's constant deaths and pained screaming do keep them pretty entertained.

Omori isn't phased by any of it ofc, since he's kiiiind of the one pulling the strings here.

I'm not sure how Mari would respond to everything.  Maybe it would be funny if she just acted like she always does and almost as if the stuff happening is just silly goofy bickering or stubbed toes, and she'll say stuff like, "Awww, don't worry, Basil!  All you have to do for a spider bite is (I don't even know, but like generic advice for a single, non-venonous spider bite)!"  And Basil is just like, "-gross sobbing- O-okay...!" while being devoured alive by a billion spiders or chomped in half by a giant one ahahaha.

Then she'll tell Kel, "Aww, Hero got mad at you?  Well... you did step on his foot after all.  But just apologize and talk it over and I'm sure he'll come around in no time! ^u^" and this is like, what you tell someone if all the angry person did was snap at them or get upset and leave for a bit.  But Hero literally broke a branch off the nearest tree and beat Kel with it until it broke lmao.

It's like... ultra horrific tbh?  But I kind of love soaking in more of that type of freaky shit.  It's almost appealing BECAUSE it's the absolute last thing that should ever be happening??

Kel is an absolute sweetie and deserves the world, Hero is a kind and patient big brother who immediately apologized and improved himself the one time he was ever really mean to Kel, and Aubrey is honestly a very good person despite putting on an edgy face when she got older and trying to push people away.  She's never out to truly hurt anyone.

So it's kinda fun to twist them up in this awful way, especially since the game itself kind of already did most of the work for me and all I did was enjoy that and also take a meme from a video series and run with it.

I mean holy shit, there's legit a whole scene in Black Space where Basil's DW friends all beat him to death and then act like everything is normal and fun. It's CANON, and everything I wrote here is of a similar caliber, just with the invitation to view it as abusive shipping if the reader desires.

Basically I'm roleplaying with myself and enjoying the sadistic story I end up with x'D