#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.

[cvnntagious]

☆ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠... 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲!𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭

You followed your dad to the door with his lunch in your hands, Roosters singing from outside the little rundown farmhouse you lived in. It was barely light out, the dirt road at the end of the driveway quiet and unoccupied. There were few out and about at this time, only part of the South likely just stirring awake, but your father was a busy man. He had a few errands to run before he could get to work in the fields.

“You go ahead an’ make sure you see Pastor Rick today,” The farmer’s deep, gruff voice boomed through the small house, “He been expectin’ y’up the hill all week.”

You smiled, watching your dad throw his big black coat on. “I know, daddy. I will,” You replied, sounding more giddy than intended as you handed him his lunch.He only nodded his head, a grunt in response. His large boots banged against the wooden floor as he turned around, lunchbox in one hand. “I’ll be a while,” He then stated, opening the janky door with the other hand, “Don’t go doin’ anything I wouldn’t approve of.”

“I never do.”

“I know you don’t, Smart girl.” With that, he reached that same hand back to pat the top of your head — a simple, yet affectionate action.

The door closed in your face, and you, dressed in blue jean shorts and a modest white t-shirt, scurried back over to the kitchen. You opened the door to your fridge, grabbing out the extra lunchbox you’d tucked away the night before. It wasn’t long before you could no longer hear the sound of your father’s loud truck, making its way down the road and into town, conjuring up a dust trail along the way. For extra measure, you peeked at the driveway through the small window in the kitchen.

With the truck long gone and a smile on your face, you turned and bolted out of the back door with the neatly-made meal in your tight grip. Your braids flew in the wind, and despite having to run across the whole field, you’d quickly made it through the large doors of the old, red barn loudly. The animals stirred in their pens, catching the right person’s attention.

That’s when a familiar face popped up from behind a large horse in its stables. “Y’know your daddy don’t allow you in here, little miss,” He said, dropping the sponge he held in a bucket of buttermilk below him to watch the pretty girl in front of him take a few steps towards him.

You stopped in front of him, giggling as you shook your head. “Like you care,” You teased, handing the farmboy his lunch with a toothy grin. The pretty southern twang of your soft voice had him smiling eagerly with you, unable to help himself. Then, you took the large cowboy hat off of his curly brown hair, placing it atop your own head before you placed a tender kiss on his cheek from your tip-toes.

“--Missed you,” Matt mumbled in response.

w/c : 501 ! a/n : this's really short and has no smut, but it's just an introduction, so i'll be writing more later on. send in promts if you're liking this au so far to get more ab cowboy matt! I also wanted to give a quick warning that this au will have religious themes, but it's not meant to offend anyone, and will have no religious corruption fetishizing.

-love, your grandma cvnty ���!

[kirammanswifey]

《Bound by Darkness》

Silco

writer's note: i had so many emotions while writing this, it felt too personal. idon't support this kind of relationship in any way and i don't think is right at all, but i must accept that is a dynamic that it has too much to explore, and with silco's personality... it's just makes sense, whatever i hope u guys like it ittt. this little (pretty long) scenarios comes from my arcane imagines, i'll let the link down there for anyone is interested, also i'll be posting a story for each one of those scenarios for this week, tomorrow it's ekko's turn ;)

link:

warnings: smut, toe fetish, humiliation, voyeur and exhibitionist tendencies, toxic relationship, manipulation, silco's kinda a sugar daddy.

You walk slowly between the shadows and artificial lights of the gallery, feeling out of place amid the pretentious laughter and admiring murmurs of the guests. Your heels echo on the marble floor, a rhythm that seems more sincere than any conversation around you. You didn’t come here for the love of art; you came because someone invited you, promising "opportunities." But all you've found are overly sweet champagne glasses and abstract paintings that seem like an elaborate joke.

You stop in front of one particularly absurd piece: a huge red stain on a white canvas, accompanied by a plaque that describes it as "the existential suffering of modernity." You sigh, letting out a murmur you didn’t intend to share:

"Existential suffering? Looks more like someone spilled their expensive wine."

"A sharp observation," replies a deep, calculated voice from behind you. It’s so unexpected that you turn immediately, finding yourself face to face with a tall man dressed impeccably in a dark suit. His perfectly styled hair, piercing green eyes, and a scar crossing his face like a badge of a battle won. He doesn’t smile, but there’s something in his expression that seems... satisfied.

"And who are you? The unofficial art critic of the night?" you ask, crossing your arms as you look him over.

"Something like that," he responds, his voice low, almost intimate. "Though I must admit, I rarely find such accurate comments among these... crowds."

"Oh, really? Well, I wasn’t expecting to meet someone not dazzled by the 'existential suffering' of a stain."

He steps a little closer, barely invading your personal space. His presence is almost suffocating, as if he fills the room with an authority that doesn’t need to be proclaimed. "True art doesn’t need explanation," he says, looking at the painting with disdain. "Only the insecure try to justify it with words."

You laugh, a light chuckle that’s not entirely genuine. "Well, I guess we found something in common. Though I’m not sure that’s a good sign."

"That depends," he replies, his eyes fixed on you as though he’s already made an important decision. "What brought you here? You don’t seem like the type who frequents places like this."

"And you do, I suppose," you retort with a mocking smile. "Let me guess: you're a misunderstood art lover here to find inspiration."

For the first time, a smile, or something resembling it, crosses his face. "Close, but not quite. I’m here for business."

"How convenient. I’m here because someone promised me 'an enriching experience.' So far, all I’ve found are empty glasses and boring conversations."

His eyes gleam with something you can’t quite identify: curiosity, interest, maybe even amusement. "Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places."

"And you? Have you found what you were looking for?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he observes you in silence, as though weighing every word he could say. Finally, he replies, "Maybe."

The rest of the night passes in conversations that aren’t superficial but aren’t completely sincere either. You talk about ambition, about how power can be as addictive as it is dangerous. He listens with an intensity that makes you feel exposed, as if every word you say is a thread he’s willing to pull to unravel who you really are.

Eventually, you find yourself with a glass of wine in hand, in a quieter corner of the gallery. He’s beside you, his proximity intimidating, but not unpleasant. "What do you really do? Because you don’t seem like just another businessman," you finally ask.

"And you? What do you really do? Because you don’t seem like just a college student."

His answer leaves you speechless for a moment, but you don’t let him notice. "Touché. Though I must admit, my motives are much... simpler than yours. I need to pay for my university before everything goes to hell."

"Money?" he asks, with a curiosity that seems genuine. "Is that what you're after?"

"No, of course not," you reply with sarcasm. "I’m here for the art, like everyone else."

He lets out a low laugh, barely a sound, but enough to send a chill down your spine. "Maybe we can help each other," he says, his voice almost a whisper.

"Oh yeah? And what do you propose?" you ask, pretending to be uninterested, though the intensity of his gaze makes it hard to keep your composure.

"Simple. I cover your expenses... and you share your time with me."

The proposal is so direct that it leaves you breathless for a moment. You look into his eyes, searching for any sign of a joke, but all you find is seriousness. It’s a deal, a non-verbal contract loaded with implications that you both understand perfectly.

You thought about it for a few minutes. You hadn’t gone there on purpose, you had just gone as a novice artist looking for new opportunities. You wanted to make money through your work, not by being someone’s sex slave. But he wasn’t just anyone, he was different from anyone you had ever met before. He was an older, attractive, cultured man, just your type. In a moment, the proposition didn’t sound so intimidating anymore. Money was money and right now you desperately needed it, besides, you weren’t going to lose anything, on the contrary.

Finally, you smile, leaning in slightly towards him. "I hope you’re clear that my time isn’t cheap."

"Neither is mine," he replies, his tone firm, almost threatening.

The deal is sealed with a raised glass. You both know it’s not just company you’re exchanging; it’s something deeper, darker, and you’re both willing to play.

The night is humid and heavy as you walk toward the restaurant Silco had mentioned. You’d never heard of it before, which is enough to know it belongs to a category inaccessible to most people. The tinted windows and discreet facade offer no clues about what you’ll find inside, but somehow, it seems to fit perfectly with the image of the man who invited you.

As you enter, the air conditioning caresses your skin, and the scent of aged wine and expensive spices envelopes your senses. The place is nearly empty, just a few tables occupied by figures who seem as far removed from your world as Silco himself. He’s already there, seated in a corner with one leg crossed over the other, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His black suit and relaxed posture radiate absolute control, as if this were his domain and you were merely a guest in his world.

“You’re punctual,” he says without standing, his eyes scanning you with an intensity that makes you feel as though he’s dissecting you piece by piece.

“Were you expecting otherwise?” you reply, letting a playful smile tug at your lips as you take a seat across from him.

“No, but it’s always refreshing to confirm someone understands the value of time.”

The waiter appears almost immediately, discreet and efficient, as if he were an extension of Silco’s calculated atmosphere. Silco doesn’t look at the menu; he simply orders a bottle of wine that likely costs more than your monthly rent, then watches you, waiting.

“Are you always this… precise about everything?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you leaf through the menu, pretending to understand the names of the dishes.

“And are you always looking for answers to questions you already know?” he counters, his words as sharp as a blade.

You hold the menu in your hands, scanning the names of the dishes in French, Italian, and Japanese. You turn it over as if that might help decipher it. In the end, you settle for what seems like a safe choice: “I’ll have the beef carpaccio as a starter and… the lobster risotto as the main course? Assuming it doesn’t blow my budget, of course.”

Silco lets out a low, almost inaudible laugh. “Tonight, you have no budget. Order whatever you want.”

“I’m not used to someone giving me carte blanche,” you murmur, handing the menu to the waiter.

“Then consider tonight an exercise in expanding your horizons.”

The wine arrives shortly after, and as the waiter pours it, you notice how Silco examines every detail: the label on the bottle, the way the liquid flows into the glass, even the waiter’s movements as he steps back. You take a sip and find it surprisingly good, even to your unrefined palate.

“This is… interesting,” you comment, swirling the glass between your fingers.

“Interesting. A safe word,” he replies, leaning forward, his voice reduced to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me, is there anything you don’t approach with a layer of caution?”

“I’m not being cautious,” you say, though you both know it’s a lie.

“Of course you are,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I don’t blame you. It’s a quality many people underestimate.”

The first course arrives: beef carpaccio, thin slices of raw meat dressed with truffle oil, lemon, and a sprinkle of Parmesan. The aroma is as intoxicating as the wine.

“I have to admit, this is new to me,” you say as you pick up your fork and take a bite. The flavor is delicate but full of nuance.

“Fear of the unknown is a weakness,” Silco remarks, slicing a fine strip from his own dish, a foie gras that looks like something out of an art gallery. “Learning to master it is what separates the strong from the rest.”

“And what do you do when the unknown masters you?” you ask, holding his gaze with a hint of defiance.

“That never happens.”

The conversation drifts into broader topics as you share the main course. Your lobster risotto is creamy and perfectly seasoned, while Silco enjoys a wagyu steak paired with a black truffle purée. You talk about ambitions, the cost of success, the sacrifices power demands.

“Have you always known what you wanted?” you ask, leaning forward.

“Since I had the capacity to think for myself,” he replies dryly. “And you? Do you know?”

“More or less. I know what I don’t want, which is a good start, isn’t it?”

“It’s a start, yes,” he concedes, taking a sip of wine. “But the real question is: what are you willing to do to make sure you get it?”

“So many philosophical questions. You’re going to make me feel like I’m in a job interview,” you say, playing with the edge of your glass.

“Maybe you are,” he says, a shadow of a smile curving his lips.

Dessert arrives: a dark chocolate soufflé you share with him. The light texture and bitterness of the cocoa contrast with the sweetness of the dessert wine Silco ordered without even consulting you.

“I didn’t expect you to be the sharing type,” you comment, taking a spoonful.

“I’m not,” he replies, his tone dry. “But I can make exceptions… from time to time.”

When the waiter withdraws for the last time, Silco leans back in his seat, his eyes fixed on you with a burning intensity. “Tell me something,” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “How far are you willing to go for what you want?”

The question catches you off guard, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you hold his gaze, letting a slow, calculated smile spread across your lips. “As far as necessary.”

He nods, as if he expected that answer. “Good. Because the path you’ve chosen isn’t for the weak.”

“And you?” you ask, leaning closer. “How far are you willing to go?”

“I’m already there,” he replies without hesitation, his words carrying a weight you don’t need to fully understand to feel.

The tension between you has become almost unbearable, an invisible thread pulling you toward each other. You don’t know who makes the first move, but suddenly you’re closer to him, the edge of the table disappearing between you.

“This is a game, isn’t it?” you whisper, your lips barely a breath away from his.

“Everything is,” he replies before his lips meet yours.

The kiss is neither soft nor sweet; it’s a clash of wills, a battle for control that neither of you is willing to relinquish. His hand rests on your neck, firm but not aggressive, and the world around you fades, replaced by the intensity of this moment.

Hours later, you stand before a window in his penthouse, the city’s skyline stretching out like a sea of lights. He’s behind you, his presence as tangible as the cold glass beneath your fingers.

“This changes nothing,” you say, breaking the silence.

“Who said it should change anything?” he replies, his tone so calm it almost infuriates you.

You turn to face him, but his expression is unreadable, his face a mask of absolute control. “Just make sure you remember that,” you say, your words as much a challenge as a warning.

“I always do,” he responds, leaning closer with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And though both of you know you’re playing a dangerous game, neither of you is willing to back down.

He circled around you, devouring you with his gaze. Silco's eyes roamed appreciatively over your curves, the red dress hugging your figure like a second skin. He stepped closer, the heat of his body radiating against your back as he pressed himself against you. His hand reached out, fingers tracing the delicate straps of your dress, toying with them.

"You look... exquisite," he murmured, voice low and smooth like velvet. He leaned in, nose brushing your ear, inhaling deeply. "Love the scent of you. It's intoxicating, just like you."

You almost moaned, but behaved yourself, you didn't wanted him to see you like an easy target. You were going play more, in the dirty meaning, of course.

His other hand rested on your hip, thumb rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric. You could already feel his hard cock against your ass, and it was so fucking magnetic. They way your body responding to his touch. It was almost magical.

Silco's lips curved into a smirk against your neck. "Tell me, my dear... are you wearing anything underneath this dress?" he purred, voice dripping with suggestion.

You smiled, mischievous. He had finally noticed. Although if we put it in a logical context, what was difficult was not to notice. You had chosen that dress especially for this night, it was your hunting dress. It accentuated your figure to perfection, leaving nothing to the imagination. So to tempt your prey you decided to put a hook, and that hook was something as simple as not wearing underwear.

"Why don't you guess?" You whispered, turning around to make eye contact with him. You would show him that you weren't easily intimidated. That he wasn't in the lead in this game of seduction.

His eyes darkened with lust and a hint of danger as they met yours. "Oh, I intend to," he replied, voice a low rumble.

In one swift, fluid motion, Silco spun you around and pinned you against the wall. His hands gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head as he pressed his body flush against yours. The hard lines of his suit-clad body molded to the soft curves of your dress. Was such a sight for sore eyes.

He leaned in, nose brushing the sensitive skin of you neck, inhaling deeply like a hungry man, a hungry man for you. "No lace," he murmured, voice a low rasp. "No silk. Nothing but bare, smooth skin..." His lips brushed the shell of your ear. "And this dress, just begging to be ripped off your delectable body."

One hand released its hold on your wrist to trail slowly down your side, fingers skimming over the red fabric. Silco's touch lingered on the hem of the dress. "Shall I find out if my guess is right, darling?" he breathed, teeth grazing your earlobe.

“I don’t know.” You arched your back like a tired cat, shamelessly rubbing your ass against his boner. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” There was a challenge in your tone of voice. It was clear and forceful, like your desire for him.

Silco's eyes flashed with hunger at your defiant words. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he slid a hand up your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress gradually higher.

His fingers brushed against the bare skin of your upper thigh, confirming his suspicions. "No panties," he murmured, voice a low rasp. He slid his hand higher, until his fingers grazed the apex of your thighs. "Just as I thought."

And you smiled at him like a total slut. Like you were proud of it. Like you were proud that you walked around and ate in a restaurant without underwear. Living out your fetish fantasy to the limit, and using him in the process. It was perfect in your twisted mind.

And then he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, plundering your lips with his tongue. He bit at your ower lip, tugging it between his teeth, tempted to rip it apart.

Breaking the kiss, he leaned back to look at you, eyes dark and intense. "Such a naughty girl," he purred. "Teasing me like this. Walking around half-naked." His hand slid further up your thigh, fingers brushing against your bare, slick folds.

"I just wanted to surprise you. Didn't you like it?" You faked a pout, pretending to be hurt in a tender, almost childish way.

Silco chuckled darkly, amused by your bratty behavior. His thumb rubbed slow circles on your lower lip. "Oh, I like your surprise very much," he murmured. "A bit too much, perhaps."

He gripped your chin tighter, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. His eyes raked over your face, lingering on your pouty lips. "The problem is, my dear, surprises like this one have consequences."

To punctuate his point, Silco slid a finger inside your slick folds, feeling your warmth envelop him. A gasp escaped from deep within your throat. It was so unexpected that you had to hold on to his shoulders.

He pumped it slowly, teasingly, watching your reaction. "And the consequences of your surprises are always so... pleasurable."

His hand on your thigh slid up to grip your ass, squeezing the supple flesh. "I should punish you for being such a tease," he growled softly. "For walking around with this pretty little pussy bare and dripping, just begging to be filled."

Damn, why was he so good with words? And with his hands too, he had just one finger in your pussy and it was driving you crazy. The years of experience were evident.

Silco added another finger, pumping them faster, harder. You moaned loudly into his mouth and he couldn't help it. He crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your weak gasp. He licked into your mouth, tongue delving deep to taste you. His fingers never stopped their relentless pace, bringing you closer to the edge.

You pulled away, agitated, to take a breath and regain the lead. You took his face in your hand and squeezed hard, with dominance. "Lucky for me, I do enjoy some punishments," You stuck out your tongue to slowly run it along his pronounced Adam's apple until you reached his lips and outlined them delicately with a lot of saliva in between.

Silco approved your actions with a growl. Although, he removed your hand from his face and took yours in return, switching positions. His thin fingers digging into the soft of your flesh.

"Mmm, you're playing with fire, little girl," he murmured, voice a low rasp. His eyes flashed dangerously, but there was a glimmer of admiration in their depths. "You're either very brave or very foolish, taunting me like this."

You didn't give a verbal response, but you did give a physical one. It was enough to just stare at him, blankly. You didn't look away, you didn't lower your eyes for even a second. You weren't going to give in.

He licked his lips. "And I do so love a challenge."

In a flash, Silco had spun you around and walked over to the expensive plush couch, but hadn’t sat down yet. He grabbed you by the hips, creating friction between the two of you. His hands slid down your back, gripping the straps of your dress.

"I'll give you the punishment you're craving," he purred darkly. "I'll fuck you so hard, so thoroughly, that you'll forget everything you know. All you'll remember is the feeling of my cock splitting you open, claiming you."

He leaned in, breath hot against your ear. "And I won't stop until your pretty little cunt is dripping with my cum, until my essence is leaking out of you with every step you take. Until everyone knows who you belong to."

With that, Silco ripped the straps of your dress down, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He latched onto one nipple, sucking and biting the sensitive bud as his hands groped and squeezed the newly exposed flesh.

“Yeah? Wouldn’t you rather see your cum on my feet?” You managed to say between labored breaths, your leg coming up and sliding over his. “Do you think I’m blind or stupid? I’ve noticed your particular interest in my feet ever since I met you. You even noticed today that I had a pedicure done and told me that the pastel blue color I had on from the day of the gallery looked better on me. You have a thing for feet. You’re a fucking pervert. Do you want to fuck my feet? Is that what you want, old man?” You were teasing him, oh, and you were having so much fun.

Silco’s eyes darkened with lust and a hint of anger at your provocation. He took your leg and lifted it up to touch your foot, luckily for both of you, you were pretty flexible so it wasn’t a problem. “Careful, little girl,” he growled. “Keep pushing me and I might just take you up on your offer.”

He leaned in closer, nose brushing against your ankle. "I've imagined bending you over and fucking your pretty little feet. Painting your toenails white with my cum. Marking you as mine in the most degrading ways possible."

His hand slid up your calf, squeezing the firm muscle. "But I want more than that. I want to ruin you completely. Shatter you into a million pieces and put you back together as my perfect little fuck toy."

Silco's voice was a low, dangerous rasp. He nipped at your Achilles tendon. "I want to fuck your every hole until you're a drooling, cock-drunk mess. Until the only thing you understand is the feeling of my dick pounding into you."

He licked a stripe up your sole, tongue swirling around your toes. "So keep taunting me, darling. Push me. Give me a reason to absolutely destroy you." His eyes flashed with sadistic promise. "I'll make all your dirty little fantasies come true. And so many more."

"Stop barking, and do it." You said, like an insolent brat. You finished taking off your dress, now all glorious and naked you sat on the couch, facing him. You raised your legs and showed him your feet in a very suggestive way. "Look at them. They're ready for you."

A wicked grin spreading across his face as he took in the sight of your naked body splayed out on his couch. You were offering to him in a golden plate, with feet and everything. His gaze lingered on your exposed pussy, already glistening with arousal.

He began to slowly removed his suit jacket. His shirt followed, buttons scattering across the floor. Your eyes roamed over his scarred, thin yet muscular chest, the sight of his physique sending a thrill through you. He was definitely a dangerous man with a even more dangerous past. And the scariest part was that you weren't even scared. Not even a little bit.

Silco knelt down in front of you, gripping your ankles. He brought your feet to his mouth, kissing along your arches reverently. "Such beautiful feet," he murmured. "So delicate. So perfect."

He licked between your toes, tongue delving between them, tickling you.

You were trying to stop yourself from laughing. It was so pathetic the way he was degrading himself for you. A powerful, billionaire man was drooling all over your feet like crazy. And all for feet. You had never understood that fetish. Feet weren’t attractive to you at all, they were just feet, and sometimes they smelled bad, and that definitely wasn’t a turn on. But in the end, who were you to judge?

Silco's tongue flicked out, licking a long stripe up your sole. He groaned at the taste of your skin, the texture of your soft feet against his tongue. He suckled on your toes, lips sealing around each one as he savored the flavor.

His hands slid up your calves, gripping your thighs possessively. "Wrap those pretty feet around my cock." he commanded roughly.

He freed his thick, hard length from the confines of his pants. The bulbous head was already leaking with arousal, a bead of precum dripping from the tip. Silco rubbed it teasingly along the arch of your foot, coating your skin with his essence.

"Warm it up for me, darling," he ordered darkly. "Get my cock nice and slick with your spit."

You didn't wait for him to tell you a second time, you got close enough and spat a considerable amount of saliva on his cock. "Come on, fuck them now. I know you crave them." You hummed, rubbing your fingers toes across his face.

With a feral growl, Silco gripped your ankles tightly and positioned the spit-slick head of his cock against the arch of your foot. He rubbed it along the soft skin, coating your foot thoroughly with your own saliva.

"Fuck, you're such a dirty little cock slut," he panted, voice heavy with arousal. "Desperate to have your feet defiled, to be used as a cheap fuck toy."

Cheap. That word hurt your pride. It was as if he was reminding you of your place and position. And indeed, he was.

With a sharp thrust of his hips, Silco forced the head of his cock past your toes, pushing into the tight, slick channel of your foot. He groaned at the exquisite sensation of your silky skin gripping his sensitive flesh.

Pumping his hips, Silco fucked your foot with slow, deliberate strokes. The wet, obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room as he used your eagerly offered appendage to pleasure himself.

"That's it, darling. Take my cock like the foot slut you are," he grunted, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "I'm going to fuck your pretty little feet until they're red and raw. Until you can't walk straight."

"You're really having fun there, old man!" You laughed openly at him, you couldn't help it. You needed to humiliate this powerful man. This man who had called you cheap.

Silco flashed a wicked grin at your teasing laughter, not slowing his frantic pace as he fucked your foot with desperate abandon. "Oh, you have no idea how much I'm enjoying this, you little minx," he growled. "I've wanted to ruin these perfect feet for so long. To claim them. To mark them as mine."

He brought your other foot to his mouth, sucking two of your toes deep inside. He licked and swirled his tongue around them, tasting her them again, before releasing them with a wet pop. "You taste divine, darling. Like sin and temptation wrapped in soft, delicate skin."

"How poetic," Your tongue was covered in sarcasm.

Silco's thrusts became more erratic, his heavy balls slapping against the heel of your foot with each desperate pump of his hips. "Keep laughing, darling. Keep taunting me. It only makes me want to use these feet even more."

He gripped your ankle tightly, pulling your foot further down his thick, pulsing shaft. The head of his cock pushed against the ball of your foot, leaking copious amounts of precum. With a final, brutal thrust, Silco buried himself balls-deep into the tight, slick channel of your foot. His cock throbbed and jerked as he found his release, thick ropes of hot cum erupting from the tip to coat your skin.

"Fuck." he roared, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy.

You looked at your cum-covered feet with an indifferent grimace.

Silco's eyes flashed dangerously as he sensed your boredom. In seconds, he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back roughly. He dragged you across the polished marble floor of his penthouse, towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city.

You stumbled and bent over willingly as Silco positioned you onto the crystal of the window. Your naked body now on lewd display for any prying eyes that might look up from the streets below. The transparent windows offered no modesty, no privacy.

Panting harshly, Silco gripped himself and slapped his sensitive, spit-slick cock against your dripping slit. He was hard again. With one brutal thrust, he hilted himself inside you, burying his thick shaft to the balls in your tight, clutching heat. He groaned gutturally at the exquisite sensation.

Your eyes rolled back. Finally, some action.

"That's it, my little whore," he snarled, fingers twisting cruelly in your hair. "Take my cock like the desperate slut you are. I'm going to fuck you right here, where anyone can see what a dirty little cock sleeve you are for me."

Those words echoed through your mind and blew your brain cells off.

“Fuck, you’re lucky I took my pills. You didn’t even put on a fucking condom!” You moaned, taking his cock so well, your boobs grinding against the glass, creating a wonderful friction. Unintentionally, you looked up at the night view. It was wonderful. A paradise of lights and stars. From one second to the next your mind wandered to the possibility that someone was watching them right now, the walls of your pussy contracting at the thought.

Silco smirked cruelly at your breathless words, not slowing his punishing pace as he slammed into you again and again. The windows rattled with each powerful thrust, the night air chilling your sweat-slicked skin. "Lucky indeed," he growled.

He leaned over you, breath hot against your ear as he fucked you harder, deeper. "Imagine it, darling. Someone spotting us through the windows, seeing what a brazen slut you are for my cock. They'd watch as I ruin your tight little cunt, pumping you full of my seed. Watch as it leaks out of you, marking you as my property."

The picture Silco painted for you was too exciting, you had always had that fantasy. Of being watched or watching in sex. Which combined with your exhibitionist tendencies right now was making you lose your mind. Not to mention how well Silco's cock stretched you, it was as if it had been tailor made for you.

Silco's hand released your hair to grip your hip bruisingly, pulling you back onto his pistoning cock. "Maybe it's a group of my men, watching their boss claim his whore. Or perhaps a curious passerby, getting an eyeful of your slutty body bouncing on my dick. It doesn't matter. I want you to imagine them seeing you like this. A filthy little fuck toy, existing only for my pleasure."

He licked a stripe up you neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. "Now be a good girl and scream for me, darling. Let all of the city hear who you belong to. Who makes you feel this good."

And so you screamed. You couldn't takenit anymore. You came between sobbings and incoherent words, spams all over your body. It was magnificent.

Silco felt the way your pussy clenched around his cock as your orgasm crashed over. Your scream of ecstasy echoed through his penthouse, no doubt alerting his men and any curious onlookers outside to the carnal act taking place within.

The feeling of your velvet walls gripping him like a vice only spurred him closer to his own release. He leaned over you, hips grinding against your ass as he buried himself to the hilt inside your quivering cunt. With a guttural groan, Silco found his own peak, his cock pulsing and throbbing as thick ropes of cum painted your inner walls.

He rolled his hips, grinding against you, ensuring every last drop of his essence was seated deep within your fertile womb. Panting harshly, Silco collapsed against your back, pinning you beneath him. He nipped at your shoulder, voice a low rasp. "Such a good girl, milking my cock dry. I think you've earned a reward, my dear."

He reached down, fingers sliding through the mixture of their juices leaking from your fucked-out hole. Bringing his coated fingers to your lips, Silco rubbed them against your mouth. "Clean them off," he commanded. "Taste what a perfect little cumslut you are for me."

And you obeyed. And not because you had to, it was because you wanted to. You two were cut from the same rotten wood.

Silco's eyes darkened with sadistic satisfaction as you eagerly licked his fingers clean, savoring the tangy essence of their combined releases. He could feel your tongue swirling around each digit, lapping up every last drop.

"That's my good girl," he praised darkly, voice a low rumble. He kissed the back of your neck and sat down on the couch, taking out a small black box of imported Italian cigars from a table. He lit one and smoked it while looking at you intensely. Both of you naked and satisfied.

When the room finally falls silent again, filled only with the distant murmur of the city, you step away from the window, letting the night breeze brush your skin. Turning around, you notice something you hadn’t seen before: a collection of musical instruments carefully arranged in a corner of the room. A sleek black grand piano, an impeccably designed harp, and a violin that looks well-used yet lovingly cared for.

“Are you a musician?” you ask, picking up the violin with a mix of curiosity and admiration.

“I was,” he replies, his tone carrying a disinterest that doesn’t match the meticulousness of his collection. “A long time ago.”

Without another word, you position the violin on your shoulder, adjusting the bow with an almost automatic precision. Closing your eyes, you let the melody take shape in your mind before playing the first notes of Tartini’s The Devil’s Trill.

The music fills the room, each note cutting through the silence with an almost painful intensity. It’s both a challenge and a declaration, a metaphor that needs no explanation. You play with a ferocity that seems to pull something from your very soul, and though your eyes remain closed, you can feel Silco’s gaze on you, as heavy as a divine judgment.

When you finish, the bow still trembling slightly in your hands, you open your eyes to find him staring at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a spark of something you’ve never seen before: awe.

“I didn’t know you could play,” he says after a long pause, his words soft but carrying the weight only he can convey.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you reply, carefully returning the violin to its place.

“That makes it all the more interesting,” he murmurs, leaning back into the couch as his eyes follow you with an intensity that seems to strip away every layer you try to keep intact.

Finally, he stands and approaches slowly. His shadow looms larger than it should in the dim room.

“Why that piece?” he asks, his tone calm but edged with something sharper.

“Don’t you know?” you reply, leaving the violin behind. “It’s a piece about ambition. About pacts and obsession.”

“Ah, yes. Giuseppe Tartini said he dreamed of the devil himself playing it. A composition born of the desire to possess the unattainable.” Silco tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with a perverse interest. “Ironic, isn’t it? Sometimes, the most ambitious dreams are the ones that destroy you.”

“I don’t think Tartini saw it that way,” you counter, crossing your arms. “He tried to recreate what he heard in that dream, but he never succeeded. He spent the rest of his life chasing a perfection that only existed in his mind.”

Silco smiles, that subtle, menacing curve of his lips that always leaves you on edge. “Exactly. Isn’t that the true nature of ambition? To chase what you can never have. It’s a curse... and a blessing.”

“And you? Have you chased something you can never have?” you ask, locking eyes with him, daring him to reveal even a sliver of vulnerability.

“I’m not interested in chasing impossibilities,” he replies, though something in his tone tells you he’s not being entirely truthful. “I prefer to negotiate. To make deals.”

“Like Tartini’s pact with the devil?” You let out a brief laugh, devoid of humor. “What happens when the price is too high?”

Silco steps closer, the distance between you reduced to a mere shadow. “There’s always a price, darling. The question is whether you’re willing to pay it.”

“And if I’m not?” you whisper, your words defiant but laced with a tension you can’t deny.

“Then someone else will pay it for you.” His voice is low, barely audible, but the implied threat wraps around the room like a shroud.

The silence that follows is heavy, laden with unspoken meaning. It feels as though the music you just played still echoes somewhere in the dark corners of the room, a reminder that this, this entire relationship, is a dangerous game.

“Do you know why I chose that piece?” you finally say, breaking the silence as you approach the violin again, your fingers trailing over its strings before pulling away. “Because it’s a metaphor.”

“For what, exactly?” he asks, though his tone suggests he already knows.

“For you,” you reply with an enigmatic smile, though your eyes are serious. “For us.”

“A pact with the devil?” His tone is mocking, but there’s something else beneath it, something you can’t quite place.

“A pact we both know we’ll lose,” you clarify. “But we keep playing the melody, over and over.”

Silco chuckles, that low, guttural sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “An interesting comparison. Though, I must say, I’m more curious to see how long the game lasts before one of us breaks the rules.”

“And when that happens,” you murmur, locking eyes with him, “who will pay the price?”

Silco doesn’t answer. Instead, he cups your chin, tilting your face toward him. “Perhaps both of us. Or perhaps neither.”

What happens next isn’t something you’d planned, but neither do you stop it. His mouth finds yours with an intensity that takes your breath away, a mix of possession and defiance that leaves you reeling.

Later, as you stand by the window with the city as a silent witness and the breeze caressing your skin, you realize this is everything he’d promised and more. It’s raw, it’s powerful, it’s inevitable.

And later still, as he sits on the couch with a glass of whiskey in hand, you pick up the violin again. Your fingers glide over the strings with a familiarity that feels ancient, as though this moment was always destined to happen.

As the first notes of The Devil’s Trill fill the air once more, Silco closes his eyes, but you can see the faintest hint of a smile. You don’t need words to understand what he’s thinking: that you are as dangerous as the melody you’re playing. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

The sound of the violin still seems to linger in the air of the room when you wake the next morning. The first rays of light filter through the vast windows of the penthouse, reflecting off the polished, minimalist surfaces around you. The city below pulses with frenetic energy, but here, at the summit of this luxurious haven, all is still. Silco is not in the bed, but that doesn’t surprise you.

You rise, wrapped in the soft fabric of a shirt that isn’t yours, and find a note on the bedside table. His handwriting is precise, almost artistic, and the words are brief, as always.

“Breakfast on the terrace. We have matters to discuss.”

Your heart beats a little faster, though you’re not sure if it’s from anticipation or the growing sense that you’re playing a game whose ending you can’t predict.

When you reach the terrace, you find him seated in one of the sleek chairs, a cup of black coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He is impeccably dressed, as if there isn’t a single moment in the day when he doesn’t have complete control over his appearance. The view of the city from here is dizzying, a constant reminder of the power he wields over the world he inhabits.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks without lifting his eyes from the newspaper.

“As well as someone who struck a deal with the devil last night,” you reply with a wry smile, taking a seat across from him.

Silco sets the newspaper aside, his eyes meeting yours with that intensity that always seems to disarm you.

“I hope you don’t regret it. Though, if you did, it would only make things more interesting.”

“I’m not one for regrets,” you say, lifting your chin. “What about you?”

“Only when the results fail to meet my expectations,” he answers, and you know it’s a warning disguised as a compliment.

Breakfast is a display of luxury: freshly baked croissants, exotic fruits you can barely identify, and a selection of cheeses and cured meats that seem straight out of a culinary catalog. He drinks coffee; you opt for a fresh juice that tastes as expensive as it looks.

“What’s the matter you wanted to discuss?” you ask, breaking the silence after a while.

Silco leans back in his chair, turning the coffee cup in his fingers.

“I’ve been considering the next phase of our… collaboration.”

“Collaboration? How professional that sounds,” you reply, arching an eyebrow.

“Everything in my life is professional,” he says with a half-smile. “Even the personal.”

“And what does this next phase entail?” you ask, trying not to show too much interest, though curiosity eats at you.

“There’s a gala next week, hosted by some strategic partners,” he explains. “I want you to come with me.”

“As your date?” you ask, knowing perfectly well what his answer will be but enjoying the game.

“More than that,” he responds, leaning toward you. “I want you to be my calling card.”

“And what’s in it for me?” you ask, resting your chin on your hand and looking at him with playful defiance.

“More than what you already have,” he says with a dangerous smile. “Your student loans, for example, could vanish with a single stroke of my pen.”

“That does sound tempting,” you admit, leaning closer to him. “But you know I never give anything without expecting something in return.”

“Of course,” he says, his tone cold as steel. “I wouldn’t be interested otherwise.”

The exchange feels like a chess match—every word carefully calculated, every gesture loaded with meaning. But beneath it all, you can sense something more: a tension, an attraction neither of you seems willing to ignore.

After breakfast, he invites you to explore more of his penthouse. Instead of heading straight to the bedroom, he leads you to a room you’d overlooked before. The door is thick and unassuming, but what lies beyond feels like a private museum.

“This is my personal collection,” he says, opening the door with a theatrical gesture.

You’re met with glass cases holding all manner of exotic objects: ceremonial daggers, tribal masks, ancient jewelry, and archaeological artifacts that look centuries old.

“Every one of these objects has a story,” he says, walking slowly among the cases. “And every story has a price.”

You stop in front of a mask carved from dark wood, adorned with gold and precious stones.

“Where’s this one from?” you ask.

“West Africa,” he answers. “It belonged to a shaman who, according to legend, could speak to the dead. He was executed by his own people when the voices began demanding sacrifices that were too great.”

“Macabre,” you say, but you can’t tear your gaze away from the mask.

“Power always is,” he says with a smile.

He shows you a ceremonial dagger, one of his most prized pieces.

“This dagger was used in a ritual that ended with the fall of an empire,” he says, turning it so you can see how the metal catches the light.

“How do you get these things?” you ask, admiring the detail of the hilt.

“Money,” he answers simply. “And the willingness to cross lines others wouldn’t dare.”

The next stop is his library, an impressive space filled with shelves that reach the ceiling, packed with books whose spines are worn and titles written in languages you don’t recognize.

“Some of these books are centuries old,” he says, running his fingers over the spines as if they were old friends. “Philosophy, history, the occult… everything you need to understand the world and manipulate it.”

“Manipulate it?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Knowledge is power,” he says, looking at you with that intensity that always seems to disarm you. “And power is the only currency that truly matters.”

Finally, he takes you to the bedroom. But instead of diving straight into intimacy, the evening takes an unexpected turn when he leads you to the massive bathtub occupying the most privileged corner of the penthouse.

The water is filled with bubbles, the temperature perfect. Both of you are naked, enjoying the feel of the hot water against your skin as the city lights twinkle through the floor-to-ceiling windows. On a floating tray rests a bowl of perfect grapes and a bottle of the most expensive champagne you’ve ever tasted.

“Do you always live like this?” you ask, taking a grape and bringing it to your lips.

“Not always,” he replies, holding his champagne glass with an air of nonchalance. “But I make an effort to enjoy the pleasures the world has to offer.”

“Makes sense,” you say, leaning back to gaze at the night sky through the glass. “Though I wonder if you actually enjoy anything, or if all this is just a distraction.”

He smiles, a smile full of secrets.

“You’re perceptive. Perhaps too much.”

The conversation moves between banter, innuendos, and dangerous truths as the glasses empty and the grapes disappear. The atmosphere is charged but also unusually calm, as if you’re both in a momentary truce in your endless game of power.

For a brief moment, the world seems to stand still, and though you both know this is just another stage in a larger game, neither of you is willing to break the spell.

Night falls over the city like a dark veil, illuminated only by the flickering lights of the skyscrapers and the distant, pale moon. Silco’s penthouse is a refuge of luxury, distinction, and coldness, but tonight, something else flickers in his eyes. The invitation to the opera is his way of showcasing what he possesses, of showing the world what belongs to him. And you, though you don’t entirely understand it yet, know that being part of this spectacle is more than just a simple evening out.

You stand before the full-length mirror in the room, dressing carefully, aware of what awaits you. The dress is black, hugging your figure, with lace details that caress your skin with a touch of restrained sensuality. The fabric flows to the floor, offering only the slightest glimpse of your heels. The delicate neckline strikes the perfect balance between provocative and elegant, while the long, sheer sleeves add a hint of mystery, as if something lies hidden beneath. Your hair cascades in loose waves over your shoulders, dark and gleaming under the dim light.

Your makeup highlights your features: eyes deeply lined, lips a crimson shade that contrasts with your pale skin. You look like a masterpiece, a muse that Silco has no fear of displaying as his own. And though part of that unsettles you, you also feel powerful, irresistible. The image you project is not just that of an attractive woman but of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing, someone who plays with shadows as much as with light.

When you step into the living room, Silco is waiting for you, standing by a window that offers an impressive view of the city. His gaze lands on you immediately, like a predator spotting its prey. He says nothing, just watches you, as if conducting a meticulous examination, a silent evaluation. For a moment, the air seems to still. It’s a mix of admiration and something darker, indefinable, but undeniably present.

"Stunning," he murmurs, barely audible, before offering his arm for you to take.

The limo that picks you up is luxurious, its interior upholstered in black leather with gold accents that shimmer under the soft lighting. Silco remains silent, but there’s something different about his demeanor. His body is tense, as if anticipating something—or someone—to breach his domain. The ride to the opera feels long, though words are unnecessary. The tension between you rises, like the air is charged with electricity.

When you arrive, the building is an architectural jewel, imposing, made of marble and glass. The lobby is grand, with towering columns reaching for the ceiling, adorned with frescoes and floating chandeliers. The opera, the season’s most anticipated event, is in full swing, and you’re the center of attention—but not in the way you expected. As you make your way to the private box, the eyes of the men can’t help but follow you. Discreetly, but you notice—the glimmer of interest in their gazes, the latent desire to approach you, to speak to you.

Silco notices too.

"Interesting, isn’t it?" he says in a low voice, barely audible amid the orchestra’s first notes. "How some men feel so comfortable admiring what doesn’t belong to them."

He turns you to face him, his face impassive but his expression betraying restrained jealousy. The way his eyes trace over you, how his hand rests lightly on your back like an invisible brand, reminds you of the true meaning of this invitation. It’s a reminder: you’re here with him. But also a warning of what might happen should anyone cross the boundaries he has silently set.

"Isn’t it beautiful?" you ask, your voice tinged with genuine fascination as you gaze at the stage. The soprano, bathed in golden light, sings an aria with such intensity that the air seems to vibrate. But your words aren’t just for him; they’re for yourself, for the magnificence of this place that makes you feel both small and immense at once.

"It’s a spectacle," Silco replies coldly, "but nothing compared to the beauty you’ve brought to this room."

You turn to him, offering a slight smile, playing with the idea of provoking a reaction. But Silco isn’t someone easily manipulated. And as the performance continues, you realize what bothers him most isn’t the opera or the perfection of the event. It’s the fact that others dare to look at you, even indirectly, in ways only he believes he has the right to.

Suddenly, as if the opera’s atmosphere weren’t stifling enough, you decide to break the ice and venture into less superficial territory, something more intellectual.

"It’s curious how opera can be so... disturbing," you begin, casting a critical look toward the soprano who seems to sing not just with her voice but with every fiber of her being, projecting an emotion so intense it hurts. "The passion conveyed in every note—it’s not just technique. It’s raw. Visceral."

Silco studies you for a moment, intrigued by your ability to see beyond the surface. "Visceral?" he repeats, a faint smile playing on his lips. "What we’re witnessing is the distortion of human emotion taken to its limit. Artists like her don’t sing for us. They do it for themselves. To confront their own suffering and turn it into something consumable."

"Perhaps," you reply, analyzing the glint in his eyes, "but I can’t help thinking all that suffering has a darker purpose. Sometimes, the rawest emotions are the most genuine. But do we really seek to understand them, or just consume them?"

Your serene yet thoughtful tone immediately captures his attention. Silco leans back slightly in his seat, his eyes fixed on you as the orchestra carries on, though his mind seems ensnared by your words.

"It’s a reflection of human fragility," he finally says, as if speaking more to himself than to you. "Pain, despair. People pay to witness that vulnerability because we’ve distanced ourselves so much from the genuine that we find solace only in reminders of our worst selves."

Your gaze softens, acknowledging the depth of his words without letting them disarm you. You know what Silco is insinuating: his fascination with human darkness, with imperfection.

"And don’t you think all of that is present in us? In what we do, in what we seek..." you say with a faint, ironic smile. "Or do you believe we can escape our own need for destruction?"

Silco stiffens slightly, the atmosphere between you growing even more charged, almost oppressive. "There is no escape," he responds, his tone grave and piercing. "Only acceptance."

"And I accept what I am," you say, holding his gaze, a challenge in your eyes.

A tense pause stretches between you as the soprano’s voice continues to hang in the air. Silco watches you intensely, a mix of respect and dangerous possession in his gaze. "Perhaps you’re right," he murmurs, his voice low, almost a whisper, as he fixes you with a look that burns more than it illuminates. "Perhaps you accept more than you’re willing to admit."

The opera comes to an end, and while the crowd bursts into fervent applause, for the two of you, everything else fades away. In this space between shadows, the words you’ve shared become a tension even more palpable, a line that cannot be crossed without consequences. The opera’s beauty, with its raw passion, becomes a reflection of what binds you together—and, at the same time, what sets you apart.

Outside, under the starlit sky, the air is fresh and clean. Silco escorts you back to the car, and during the ride home, the silence is heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts.

When you reach the penthouse, the tension that’s been building all night finally erupts. The door closes behind you, and immediately, without words, he turns you toward him, taking your face in his hands, his grip firm. But the look in his eyes is something entirely different. It’s possessive, urgent, as if he’s claiming something he always knew was his, though you’ve never fully given it to him.

"I don’t like when they look at you," he whispers, his lips close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I don’t like when you seek their attention."

It’s a dangerous game, and in that moment, you know you’re trapped. There’s no escape, no alternative. The passion between you morphs into something darker, more controlled, and at the same time, more intense. As if everything he does, everything he gives, is part of a way to mark you, to ensure there’s no doubt in your mind about what you truly are to him.

Before you can react, his lips claim yours in a deep, possessive kiss, and the world outside that room fades away. All that matters now is what’s in front of you. Silco. And the power he holds over you.

The sea stretches out before you like an endless canvas, as vast and deep as the emotions Silco stirs within you. The ocean breeze caresses your skin, carrying away the heavy thoughts you’ve been burdened with over the past week. In this space, everything seems clearer. Yet, despite the stunning scenery, an undercurrent of tension lingers in the air, impossible to ignore.

Your birthday has arrived, and Silco has planned something special, something you never expected. This time, there’s no shadowy gala or opulent halls. Instead, you find yourself in a secluded paradise—a hidden corner of the sea where the elite rarely tread. You’re aboard a private yacht gliding over turquoise waters, far from the city you’ve always known, but close to what is inevitable: Silco.

You’ve dressed more simply than usual, in a flowing white dress that drapes softly over your figure, and a straw hat that partially shields your face, giving you an air of mystery, almost ethereal. The sun beats down mercilessly over the ocean, but the warmth of the daylight is tempered by the cool breeze sweeping over the water. Yet, despite the relaxing atmosphere, the silence between you and Silco carries a weight that’s impossible to ignore.

The yacht is a spectacle of luxury: polished wooden decks, a lounge with glass windows offering panoramic views of the ocean, and a bar that looks like something out of a high-society film. It’s elegant, comfortable, and perfectly isolated—a microcosm where the outside world ceases to exist. And yet, you know you’re not here just to enjoy paradise. Silco watches you, seated in a chair by the railing, his gaze steady, analytical, calculating. Somehow, you know this trip isn’t solely a gift for you.

“This place is perfect, isn’t it?” he says in a calm voice, almost a whisper, as he takes a sip from the wine glass in his hand. “A place where you can think without distractions.”

You look at him, unsure if he’s actually asking you or simply sharing his thoughts. The sunlight casts a special glow over his face, highlighting his sharp features and the piercing gaze that tracks your every movement. The yacht glides further into the water, each passing mile pulling you further away from everything you know.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally reply, but the air remains thick with unspoken tension. “Why here? Why today?”

Silco observes you with a small smile, something he rarely shows. It’s not a smile of contentment but of control, of possession. As if this place, this moment, everything, was orchestrated for you but also for him. And that unsettles you in a strange way.

“It’s your birthday,” he replies, his tone soft but firm. “And while I don’t care for pompous celebrations, I wanted you to have something special. A place where neither of us has to worry about anything but being here.”

You search his eyes for some clue, something to tell you that this is genuine. But you find nothing. Silco has no intention of making things easy for you, and you know it well. Despite the idyllic setting, there’s a palpable distance between the two of you, like an invisible field neither dares to cross.

Shortly after, lunch arrives. A feast prepared for two: fresh lobster, tuna sushi, and an endless selection of wines. The scent of the sea mingles with the aroma of the food, and the sun casts everything in a perfect golden light. But as Silco serves you, his eyes betray something more—something you’ve come to know well: a subtle control over your every action, as though each gesture is part of a scene he meticulously arranged for you.

“Do you like it?” he asks, watching your face as you take a bite. His tone is almost condescending, as though he’s assessing your reaction.

“It’s delicious,” you reply, but the taste is overshadowed by the pressure you feel being here with him. The sun shines too brightly, but his eyes are even more intense, always watchful, always calculating.

“All of this is for you, but it’s also for me,” he says, almost muttering to himself. “It’s easy to give gifts; the hard part is knowing how to thank someone for what they give you. But you’ll see—everything comes with a price.”

Your stomach churns at his words. Despite the dazzling view, the weight of what he’s just said hits harder than the heat of the sun. Silco has gifted you a perfect day, but the price of that perfection is something you can’t help but wonder about. What does he truly want from you? What else is he expecting?

After the meal, Silco approaches you, his gaze never less than piercing, scrutinizing every inch of you. There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes everything once serene feel more complicated, denser. He hands you a small package, his smile teetering on the edge of irony.

“A gift, though you may not be sure you want it,” he says with a low chuckle. “I’ve observed you, and I know what you like. You know I enjoy giving you what belongs to you.”

You open the package carefully, finding inside a diamond necklace—an intricate design that almost seems alive, as though each stone was placed with specific intent. You hold it in your hands, admiring its perfection but also feeling a growing pressure in your chest. The price of this gift isn’t just monetary—it’s emotional.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, feeling the weight of every word you say and the discomfort rising within you. The necklace is the final touch to a stage where you already feel trapped.

“Yes, it is,” Silco responds, his tone almost intimate, as though he knows what it truly means to you. “But don’t forget—everything I do has a purpose. Nothing comes without a price.”

Those words land like a blow. You know this isn’t just a necklace he’s given you but a reminder of his power over you, of what he expects from you. He isn’t merely offering you something beautiful—he’s offering an unspoken contract where you are the one who must pay.

The afternoon drifts by as the yacht continues to float aimlessly in the turquoise waters. The sun begins to set on the horizon, painting everything in shades of orange and gold. Silco never stops watching you, as though measuring you, waiting for something within you to react, for something to break. But you remain there in silence, wondering just how far you’ve fallen into his web, just how deeply you’ve allowed his influence to seep under your skin.

As night falls and the sky darkens, Silco moves closer to you, his presence firm and assured. His arm wraps around your waist with a possessiveness you cannot ignore.

“This is a birthday you’ll never forget,” he murmurs near your ear, the implicit promise in his words more terrifying than any celebration. “No matter how many gifts I give you, don’t forget—you’ll always be mine.”

The sound of the water lapping against the yacht, the whisper of the wind—all of it fades as his words echo in your mind. You cannot escape his control, not while you continue accepting his gifts. And deep down, you know you’re already too far gone.

Four months. Four long months since you entered Silco's world. Everything you knew before seems to have vanished. You live with him, in his house, in his space, isolated from your friends, from your family. Everything has changed, and although a part of you knows things weren’t healthy from the beginning, you’ve grown accustomed to this new reality. You’ve become his shadow, his silent company, an ornament accompanying him in his business and his life, without truly being part of anything.

University is the only thing you have left outside his sphere. You only leave to attend classes, as just another obligation. The campus feels like a distant world, and interactions with your classmates are limited to class meetings, while the other students dive into their own lives. You’re just there, doing what’s expected of you, like an automaton. After classes, you quickly return to the penthouse, as if it were a refuge, though deep down you know it’s more of a prison than a home.

Your friends no longer call, your family barely hears from you. And you… you’ve forgotten how to be yourself. Conversations that once felt light now seem distant, as if they were memories from another life. You’re trapped in a cycle with Silco that you don’t know how to break. Everything you do, everything you are now, revolves around him. The arguments, the fights, the manipulations—it all feels like a whirlwind, a maze with no exit.

Tonight feels different. Something in the air is heavy, a tension you can’t ignore. Silco arrives late, his face hardened by business, by stress. You watch him from the couch, the dim light of the lamp illuminating his figure. You know something is about to erupt. The question is, will you be able to endure it?

He approaches, watching you for a moment, his gaze piercing as always. "Where have you been?" he asks, his tone low, almost uncomfortable, but there’s something more there. It’s not a simple question—it’s an accusation disguised as curiosity.

You rise slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze. "I’ve been here, waiting, as always. Doing what you asked of me," you reply, your voice already laced with the frustration you’ve been repressing.

He studies you, his expression unreadable. "Waiting… for what exactly?" The question is provocative, but also charged with a power you can’t ignore. You feel as if you’re standing on a battlefield, unsure if the war is already lost or if there’s still something left to defend.

"I don’t know what you expect from me," you say through clenched teeth, your hands balled into fists at your sides. "Everything I do, everything I am, revolves around you. I don’t know if you like that or if it disgusts you, but I’m tired of you treating me like I’m just an extension of yourself."

The response comes faster than you expect, his voice turning colder. "I’m not treating you as an extension of myself," he says, every word sharp as a blade. "I’m showing you reality. I’m the only thing keeping you here, the only thing giving you purpose."

The words hit you like a whip. They hurt more than you’d like to admit because, deep down, you know there’s some truth to them. "And what am I to you, then?" you ask, your voice breaking slightly despite yourself. "Just another tool? A piece of flesh to satisfy your needs?"

Silco smiles bitterly, a gesture he rarely shows. "Isn’t that what you are, dear? In this world, we’re all tools. The difference is that some of us hold more power than others. And you, without me, are nothing. I’ve given you everything you have; everything you are now is thanks to me."

The air grows heavier, and your hands begin to tremble, but you try to keep calm. The venom in his words wounds you, but not enough to make you crumble. "I don’t need you to remind me. But what you don’t understand, Silco, is that this isn’t what I want. This isn’t who I want to be."

He takes a step closer, his figure darkening the room. "Then what do you want? To run away from all of this? To live a life of lies, like the others? With your friends, with your illusions? That won’t give you what you really need. You know that. Everything I offer you is the truth, without embellishments."

"The truth?" you repeat, struggling to contain the rage boiling inside you. "The truth is you’re suffocating me. You’re manipulating me, dragging me further and further into your world. What you’re giving me isn’t truth—it’s your version of what the truth should be, your control. And I’m tired of being part of it."

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you wonder if it’s really possible to escape all of this. Silco pauses, his gaze no longer as intense, but his words still cut deep. "You know you can’t escape this, don’t you?" he says softly, as if he knows something you haven’t yet accepted. "You can’t live without me. You have nowhere to go."

The anger begins to bubble over, and it’s as if all the repressed energy explodes at once. "Of course I can! I can leave! I can… I can go and never come back." Your voice trembles, but the decision is clear.

Silco’s laugh echoes through the room, bitter and cold. "And what would you do out there? Where would you go? The world around you has no place for someone like you. Without me, you’re nothing. And you know it."

A heavy silence fills the air as you both stare at each other, weighing every word, every gesture. "I am nothing without you," you say finally, your voice barely a whisper. "But that doesn’t mean I can’t find myself. That doesn’t mean I have to keep being part of your game."

Silco remains silent, watching you as if he’s evaluating something in your words. His expression is hard to read, but for the first time, there’s something in his eyes you can’t identify—something that looks like doubt.

"If you leave, there’s no coming back," he says in a low voice, an implicit threat in his words. "There will be no place for you in my world, and you know it."

And in that moment, something inside you clicks. The decision is made. It no longer matters what he says. "I know," you respond firmly, your heart pounding. "I know. But I’m leaving."

You turn and begin walking towards the door. Silco does nothing, doesn’t move, doesn’t stop you. But his gaze follows you, weighing on you, one last attempt at control.

As you step through the door, the sound of your heels echoing in the hallway is your only companion. The cool night air greets you, and for the first time in a long time, you feel free. At least for a moment, you can breathe.

Thirty long days have passed since you left his side. A month. Thirty days of loneliness, abandonment, and anguish. Broken promises crash against your chest like an echo, and the constant pressure of an uncertain future devours you from within. You try to survive, but each day becomes harder.

Your university life, once your salvation, is now just a chain tying you to a routine that slowly consumes you. You can’t pay your rent. The overdue payments loom like a black shadow, threatening to swallow you whole. The people who once stood by your side now turn their backs on you. Friends, so conventional, so distant, can’t understand what you’ve lost. Your family doesn’t even try. They’ve rejected you, abandoned you. And amidst all this, your studies remain a distant beacon, an unattainable dream you can barely cling to.

You tried finding a job, but you lost everything as quickly as it came. The university demands more of you, and all you have to offer is the anguish of knowing your world is collapsing while they move forward, oblivious to the darkness consuming you. The days stretch endlessly, and the nights become unbearable. Sadness courses through your veins like a dark current, but nothing, nothing hurts more than his absence. The void Silco left is an open wound that cannot heal. The luxurious life you shared with him, the brilliance of his world—you miss it. The darkness within him, that sense of belonging found only in the depths of wickedness, you miss that too. That is the price you pay for leaving.

One day, without thinking, without knowing what drives you, you decide to return. You don’t care if he rejects or humiliates you. The only thing you know is that you can’t go on without him. The city looks dull and cold from the heights, but Silco’s building draws you with a dark, almost magnetic force. Your steps are slow, heavy, each one closer to the truth you’ve been denying. When you reach the door of the penthouse, doubt strikes you, but you don’t stop. You know. You can’t escape him.

Silco is there, waiting for you, as if he knew you would return. As if he knew the absence was only temporary, that nothing could keep you apart for long. His presence fills the air, heavy and dense, as always. And yet, there is something more in his gaze—something dark and satisfied. Silco is not the kind of man who is surprised by others’ decisions because, in his world, he is always in control.

“You had nowhere else to go, did you?” he says in that deep voice that takes your breath away, his tone so full of certainty you can’t respond. “You’ve realized it, as you always do. No one understands you. No one knows what you need, what belongs to you. Only I do.”

His words pierce through you like a knife. You know he’s right—there is nowhere else you can find what he gave you. The void left by his absence is something you cannot fill. No one else understands you. No one else has seen the darkness you both plunge into and embraced it. Silco is everything you are, everything you know.

You move closer to him, wordless, eyes downcast, a silent plea. Silco smiles, his gaze softening for just a moment before growing more intense. He steps toward you, as if advancing over familiar terrain—a battlefield he already knows. He watches you intently, as if he can read every thought in your mind.

“I knew you’d come back,” he murmurs, touching your face with a dangerous softness, a touch devoid of affection but full of possession. “You know, don’t you? You can’t live without me. You never will. You’re too broken to be free, always have been. You can’t stand being away—you know it.”

You nod slowly, unable to speak, unwilling to say anything more. The only truth is that you need to return to him. You cannot escape.

“You’re mine,” he continues as his fingers slide down your neck with palpable possession. “And you know it. No one else does, not even you. But I’ll remind you always, until you die. Because everything you are, everything you have, is mine.”

Before you can process his words, he steps back, and with a disturbingly calm demeanor, he pulls a small case from his pocket. He opens it slowly, revealing a black diamond ring. The jewel gleams with a macabre luster, as if it has a life of its own. He looks at it, then offers it to you. “I gave you everything. Now, I want what’s mine completely.”

The ring, with its dark color and incalculable value, hypnotizes you. You don’t need to think—you can’t think. In that moment, you surrender. You know what it is and what it means, but the idea of being entirely his draws you in with unstoppable force. You accept without hesitation. It feels as natural as breathing.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word flowing from your lips like a sentence, and you feel the world begin to revolve around him again.

He smiles—a cold, satisfied expression—and takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger with unsettling precision. “I knew you would. I knew you couldn’t escape. No place is safe enough for you. You’re mine, and you’ll never leave me.”

He moves closer to you, his face mere inches from yours. “Because only we understand what we truly are. No one else has seen the darkness like we have. No one else appreciates it. We deserve this. All we have left is this bond, this darkness. Why fear it when we can embrace it together?”

Your lips brush against his, and the dark passion overtakes you like a flame consuming everything in its path. The kiss is deep, almost destructive. There is no sweetness in it, only savage voracity. In his arms, you finally feel like you belong to something, to someone. You are his. And for the first time, everything feels right.

In that moment, the world shrinks to just the two of you. Nothing else matters—neither the university, nor family, nor friends. Only him and you, immersed in a darkness only you two understand. The ring, the seal of possession, is the final bond tying you together—a reminder of the inevitable.

Silco looks at you, his eyes dark yet filled with a satisfaction you’ve never seen before. “Welcome home,” he says in his deep voice. And for some reason, in this moment, all you can do is nod, surrendering entirely to the shadow that surrounds you, to the darkness that calls you.

[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.

[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.

[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)

[fortruechaos]

relationship document.

this is a small place intended to honor some of the dynamics i've written over the years... i thought it would be nice to keep track of them somewhere. not every muse written by my friends is here (especially noting rain who writes like every sonic character and all of them could basically be a main for my shadow but we've threaded more extensively or plotted with these specific characters so they deserve special places).

(note that i hate the assumption that these things have to be reciprocated, it feels very performative sometimes and i've found it also often forces people into feeling obligated to something they don't wanna feel obligated to, so please don't take this as pressure to have to list my shadow anywhere or think of him in a certain way. i literally don't care about stuff like that. ok thanks for writing with me <3)

this isn't comprehensive at all and is a constant wip. in no particular order.

@/npcharacters ;; ROUGE.

My best friend. I trust her more than anyone else, despite her preference to think of herself as the deadly femme fatale.

@/npcharacters ;; THE DOCTOR.

It's complicated. I feel an immense pity for him, and yet I hate him like I hate no one else. The feeling seems to be mutual, which is oddly comforting.

@/unfortunatedarling ;; YU-NAE.

I want to make things right for them. So they can live the life they deserve to live.

@/spirestar ;; AMY.

My dear friend. I wish she wouldn't pay so much heed to the occult though...tch.

@/spirestar ;; SILVER.

He means well, but he jumps to conclusions more often than not, and can be annoyingly brash...regardless, he is a powerful ally.

@/lightdash ;; SONIC.

Every time I think I understand Sonic, he keeps me on my toes. He also continues to encourage me that it's okay to be on my toes. It's strange to say, but I've begun to appreciate it.

@/badnikbreaker ;; AMY.

One of my closest companions. They need to learn how to take breaks and step away. We've been through much together, so I wish she would trust her own strength.

@/badnikbreaker ;; BEAST.

Maybe I shouldn't trust her, but I do. She had no name for so long. I know what it's like to not have a past, so I don't care.

@/badnikbreaker ;; AVA.

Too small to be let down in the ways she has been. I don't know much about her outside of that impression though.

@/badnikbreaker ;; MARIA.

My sister, reborn of my own hubris. I messed up. I can only attempt to make it up to her again.

@/familylightfox ;; VOLT & HARMONY.

I seem to wind up in their universe more often than not, and every time it seems the both of them have undergone significant growth. They may just be acquaintances, but I feel I know them quite well by now.

@/shadowsceptered ;; MEPHILES.

A cockroach who keeps coming back. He should be a bug instead of a half-god. I should have known better than to think I could shake off such persistence. (+ faulty knight verse): The only one who has promised me what I want: answers. Cryptic for reasons that lead me to be suspicious of him, and yet he is the only one willing to see me for who I am.

[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.

[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."

[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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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

[daisiesandgiggles]

I don't appreciate my vulgar crush one bit! 👎👎

Hi Shades, I feel you on that some of the crushes today even had me like😳🙄So for starters, I'd like to apologize that you've been offended. And I'll go a step further and ask everyone that from here on out, to please keep it CLASSY not TRASHY. (Yes I said that) and if anyone has an an issue come to ME @daisiesandgiggles NOT @thattattedchic74 This is all me, she had nothing to do with it. We will not be posting anymore Crushes or offensive (or potentially offensive) secrets. Period! Again come to me if you need clarification. When I first started Secret Sunday 4 years ago it was never intended to offend people. It was meant to be something lighthearted and fun and also a place where folks could come to vent and express themselves freely. No judgement, and no condemnation. I intend to keep it that way and want to thank those who keep us on our toes. Asks like this one let us know where we need to improve, so thank you Shades. Again my apologies.

Much Love, ~🌼~

#Secret Sunday #Daisiesandgiggles