#and then all the sudden this entire plot appeared in my mind

[heich0e]

GOJO FIC 👂🏻👂🏻👂🏻

(tw: mental health and suicide mention)

i'm not gonna write it, so i will tell u what the plot is, but basically it's reader and gojo in an in-patient mental health treatment facility. the two don't really get along, because gojo is just a bit too... blithe about the whole thing—too outspoken and upbeat considering the circumstances.

gojo is a long-term resident, having been there longer than most of the other patients, and this is elective treatment, meaning he (and reader) can leave at any time—but for whatever reason this guy is staying, and reader doesn't trust or like him upon first meeting because she can't figure him out. over time, reader realizes that his personality is largely a facade he puts up to keep people away—not that it's particularly hard. he only ever has one visitor, shoko, and even then she never stays for very long on her infrequent appearances at the facility (and satoru usually locks himself in his room for a full day after she comes to see him, only to reappear like nothing ever happened.) no family ever stops by. no other friends. it's just him, and those sunglasses, and that smile that always feels a little bit like it's about to break at the edges.

at the end of the fic it's revealed gojo checked himself into treatment because geto was a patient there, but suguru killed himself shortly after he got out. satoru has pretty much been there ever since, because in his grief he needed to see what the last months of suguru's life were like—and now he can't leave because if he does that means he has to face a world without him.

reader and gojo have a breakthrough moment where finally satoru admits to this. it starts as an argument but they both know that neither of them are really angry at the other. they're just... angry at their circumstances. or the fact that they're hurting. and eventually satoru admits that he's scared to leave because he doesn't know how to live without suguru. and reader just tells him that no one really knows how to live and they're just doing their best, maybe even jokes that maybe if he actually listened in any of their group therapy sessions he'd already know that. and then he cries. and so does reader.

the next day reader wakes up and finds out that he's checked himself out of treatment and left without a word. the end.

[scuttlingcrab]

Fiendish Rewards

Summary: Raphael appears at Withers' party, hoping to finally collect the Crown of Karsus from Tav. However, an unexpected turn of events causes Raphael to re-think his plans.

Notes: Featuring growing tensions and light angst. I always wondered what would happen when Raphael wore the Crown for the first time. This might be a wee bit too long but I initially intended this to be another submission for @dmagedgoods Raphael romance collection.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via raphael-ancunin)

Raphael knew he was intruding. He had no business attending Withers' party, yet he arrived fashionably late all the same. He would never show his face, grace the companions with his presence, merely to exchange pleasantries. As tempting as their tadpole-free souls were, the simple minded mortals had no meaning to him now that the Elder Brain was defeated. That evening Raphael’s only desire was to collect the Crown of Karsus. And perhaps, converse with that little mouse, if time allowed. 

Thus, the Devil did what he knew best: lurked from the shadows of the wings and listened for his cue. 

Raphael had abided for over a millennium after he lost the Crown to Mephistopheles, lashing out with such violent anger in the first century that he nearly eradicated an entire plane. That initial taste of defeat never left his memory; the bitterness, that rotting feeling he felt deep within his core still haunted him. It was his first introduction to failure and the last. 

He eventually learned how to forge that frothing hatred for his father, his revulsion at the cursed cards he had been dealt with, into a far more superior weapon: knowledge, his greatest strength. Raphael researched, manipulated, and opened up the recesses of his mind to devour the ins-and-outs of the Hells. He painstakingly plotted, weaving his schemes into the very fabric of fate itself, planting the seeds of prosperity for what he hoped would eventually gain him a win.

Despite all Raphael had endured since the collapse of Netheril, the last 6 months had been the most excruciating. Waiting. Watching. Hoping. There was no longer an Archdevil in his path, but a mere mortal. His hunger for power grew rampant as he watched Tav continue to elude him, to harbour the final piece of his victory as she tried to reclaim what was left of her old life. That selfish creature. 

To Tav’s credit, she had been quite remarkable on the battlefield, showcasing her strength and resolve as she smited enemies and climbed through the carnage to her destiny. She left a sea of corpses in her wake, the mortal rubble alone was unlike anything Raphael had ever seen. Out of all the calamities he had been fortunate enough to craft and witness, being a spectator during the fight against the Netherbrain would forever be a highlight.

When the Crown fell into the River Chionthar, Raphael eagerly watched as Tav spent weeks fishing it out, taking her precious time as she retrieved each broken piece of his future. He restlessly stormed the halls of his domain, cursing the woman for attempting such an arduous task alone. He could have aided her, sent in Korrilla as a last resort, but he refused. He would not give Tav the satisfaction, she would have to work just a little more to complete her end of the bargain. Besides, there was something endearing about watching Tav work so diligently, the determination in those eyes reminded Raphael of himself.

The little mouse was Raphael’s greatest investment and he’d be damned if she failed him now, or if he let his sudden affinity for her overtake his true purpose. Raphael’s ambitions for the Crown had somehow intertwined with his infatuation for the woman, and he was just as much to blame.

He had let this farce go on for long enough. Raphael would not stoop so low in his final moments before he rose to glory. Once Tav crowned him, these foolish emotions would cease and he would continue with his grand plan. He was a Devil and he would not let these cursed mortal emotions falter his intentions any longer; he would never allow anything, anyone, to destroy his work. Raphael’s blood, sweat, and tears would not be in vain. 

Cheering suddenly came from the camp as Tav and her companions raised their chalices in celebration. Withers' speech had finally ended, much to Raphael’s delight. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could’ve listened to the monotonous dribble. The monologue was indeed rousing, but Raphael could’ve done better, if given the opportunity. 

One by one, the group of heroes slowly disbanded, until only Tav remained. She made her way around the camp, stopping by each empty tent. It was as if the little mouse was paying her respects, bidding farewell to the ghosts of her past.

When Tav was done she wandered to the lakefront and sat down on a mossy rock, staring into the sparkling evening sky. The light in her own eyes vanished, leaving a dark cloud looming above her. 

Raphael took that as his signal. He quietly removed himself from the cover of the treeline and began his entrance, approaching Tav with a swagger. 

“If it isn’t the hero of Baldur’s Gate. My, how far we’ve come! It feels like only yesterday you fell from the skies, tadpole and all, and began your little adventure; slowly scurrying your way to triumph.”

Tav smiled at the sound of Raphael’s voice, turning to greet him. They locked eyes, her expression brightening. That look pierced through Raphael’s defences with such ease, a slight chill crawling up from the base of his spine. He stopped in his tracks, quickly recovering by placing a hand on his hip. It had been too long since they were alone, when he had last gazed into those cursed eyes. Careful now. 

“Raphael, always the poet.”

“The little mouse is no longer, but now a ferocious lion. Congratulations are in order.”

Raphael gifted Tav with his most flourishing bow, hoping the gesture would distract from his earlier misstep.  

“Now do tell, how does it feel to be the victor? To have saved the world? Is it as the bards have sung?” Raphael rose, taking another step towards Tav. 

Tav merely shrugged, her lips quickly returning to a frown. 

“Dunno.”

“I would have thought a hero to be more eloquent.”

“I'm still waiting for that ‘ah-ha!’ moment, but if we’re being honest tonight, I’m not really sure what it means to be a hero.”

“You will come to understand eventually. It’s the very nature of your existence.”

Tav remained silent, pulling her eyes away from Raphael. She stared down at her hands, studying her scarred palms.

“May I?” Raphael inquired, gesturing towards the available space on the rock. 

Tav nodded and Raphael sat himself beside her, intentionally leaving a minimal amount of space between them.

“You have something that belongs to me.”

“There it is,” Tav said, through a faint laugh, “You know, I was expecting you to come sooner.”

“I’ve often found the best persuasions are the ones that aren't forced.”

Tav looked up at Raphael, her eyes moving over every inch of his guise, stopping briefly near his lips. He was close now, so close. To the Crown. To his objectives. And to that damned woman.  

“May I see the Crown, please?”

Tav smiled, moving towards Raphael. For a split second, Raphael expected a kiss. It was only natural for mortals to attempt such a distraction in times of distress. Infuriating as it was, he wouldn’t have been opposed to such a notion. Tav instead reached down for her backpack lying in the sand, placing it on her lap. 

She pulled open the straps and yanked out the Crown, handling it as if it was but a petty trinket. Raphael suppressed a sigh, he would not let the significance of this moment be soiled due to the mortal’s lack of formality. 

“I managed to reforge it, to the best of my abilities, thanks to the Annals of Karsus. Though I haven't tried it on yet to see if it worked.”

“A wise choice.” 

Tav held the Crown out towards Raphael, but he raised his hand. With a flick of his wrist, the Crown floated out of Tav’s grasp, slowly moving towards him. It was just as beautiful as he remembered, if not more so. It glistened under the moonlight, calling to him. Soon. Very soon. He let the Crown hover, spinning delicately, for a few more seconds.

“Do you need me to remind you of our terms? The deal was that you are to crown me. I would’ve come to you long ago if I could simply put it on myself.”

“Gods. Really, Raphael?” 

“Truly.” Raphael donned his notorious smirk in response.

“Fine, are we to do this here then?”

“I couldn't think of a more fitting location.” 

Raphael rose, walking towards the middle of the lakefront. He snapped his fingers, and a luscious red silk pillow appeared. He shifted it slightly in the sand and bent a knee, preparing himself for the crowning. 

“Come, it is time.” 

Tav stood intending to grab the Crown, but before she could reach it, Raphael beckoned it towards him. Tav quickly followed, positioning herself above Raphael. He raised his head to gaze at the magnificent sight in front of him. The moonlight framed Tav perfectly, she was silhouetted against the dark sky, glowing. The Crown and the little mouse, side-by-side, as it was always destined to be. 

Raphael took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He absorbed the scents and sounds around him; earthy tones, a hint of wetness, mixed with the fresh woodland air. Faint chirping from various insects called out to him, the leaves rustled slightly against the warm summer wind. His heartbeat intensified, growing more rapid, adding an extra drum beat to the night’s symphony. 

“Let’s get on with it then.” Tav spoke. 

Raphael opened his eyes and watched Tav grab the Crown, lowering it on top of his head. 

When the Crown touched his forehead, it reformed itself to accommodate his size, shrinking to provide a snugger fit. It hissed into place and then in an instant, everything changed. 

Pain, pleasure, fear, anger, confusion; every possible emotion tore through his very being. He was ripped in two, three, four… millions of tiny little pieces. His head throbbed with information, so many secrets, so much… he saw and felt everything, what could’ve been, what might come to pass��� it was too much. Too much! Too fast! 

He fell forwards, his hands digging, ripping through sand. He was alone, always alone, darkness surrounded him. No. There was light, light flooded in from the top of his skull, projecting into every possible direction. He was the light. He was the dark. He was all-encompassing. 

Raphael screamed, his voice echoing into the abyss around him. He had never read about such a reaction, in all his years of researching, how could he have missed… could it be because… NO. He will tame this. He will persist. He will… 

The sand beneath Raphael turned to liquid as the newfound power continued to surge through his limbs, burning his veins. He tore at his own flesh and bones to rid himself of the agony, but it wouldn’t come to an end. 

“Raphael!” He heard a voice shout, such a familiar tune. But who? He couldn’t quite place it.

Raphael erupted, his devilish wings tearing through the skin in his back. There were flames all around him, growing hotter, thicker. His chest melted, his ears ached from the thunderous explosions. Whispers, whispers everywhere. He heard so many, and the cries, the screams. Would they never cease? 

Something tore at his head, pulling the Crown away from him. The Crown. NO! He cannot lose it again. Raphael raised his hands attempting to fight back, but he was grasping at nothing. It was over as fast as it had begun. There was now silence. 

Raphael’s vision cleared. He was on his back, looking up at the stars. Tav stood over him, holding the Crown in her hands. She eyed him with concern, tears flooding down her cheeks. He raised his own hands, his claws trembling. Raphael tried to think but his mind was vacant, every thought achingly bounced back. His skin burned, bones ached. There were deep lacerations all over his body, his own hands were covered in blood. He gasped, looking at Tav’s body but found no abrasions. He let out a disgruntled sigh. If he had harmed her in his rage, in those brief seconds of failure… would he ever forgive himself? 

Tav threw the Crown aside and helped Raphael to his feet. His eyes followed the artefact as it landed on top of the sand, taunting him still. How?

As if reading Raphael’s mind, Withers' voice cut through the silence as he appeared before them.

“Thou hast succeeded but are not yet ready. Take care that thou are not too hasty, thine pursuits will lead to plights.” There was a long pause as Withers continued staring at Raphael, looking straight through him. He met Withers’ expressionless gaze, waiting for him to continue. “The pattern has been woven and all circumstances interlaced are as fate decided.” 

Raphael never imagined the consequences of his premature investiture. He was always going to reforge the Crown himself, in his own image. How could he possibly trust a mortal to handle such a relic successfully? But in the heat of the moment, and in the fine print of the very deal he crafted, he had opened himself up to carelessness, becoming the very thing he despised.

His eyes darted to Tav, searching the woman for any excuse against his actions but he could only look at her with veneration. He would not blame her for everything. His vanity, eagerness… his obsession for the Crown and that cursed woman nearly brought him to his untimely demise. Let this be a lesson to Raphael to heed his own warnings. The Devil would need to cool his heels in preparation for the battles looming ahead.

Raphael turned to face Withers, but the curious being had vanished. Instead he hummed thoughtfully, looking at Tav. 

She stood next to him, her body trembling. Tav's eyes were fixed on Raphael, still full of worry but there was something else present, another emotion he thought he’d never see from a mortal again.

Tav’s expression sent a sudden stabbing pain through his chest as a wave of nostalgia washed over him. There was another mortal who had once looked at him with the same kindness and understanding. He had buried it deep within his subconscious, but it was rising back to the surface, like a blooming flower. He would NOT allow himself anymore turmoil this evening.

“I owe you my thanks.” Raphael whispered, his voice on the verge of cracking.

“Raphael, I don’t understand, you were nea…” 

“If you value your life, you will hold your tongue. There will be no talk of this moment again. Ever. Have I made myself clear?”

Tav’s eyes widened at his sudden change of tone, but she nodded nonetheless. 

“I must return to my House of Hope. For healing and reflection. There is work yet to be done, as you have borne witness to this evening.” Raphael snapped his fingers, a raging portal materialised behind him. “You may join me, if you so wish.”

Raphael extended his arm, welcoming her acceptance. 

“Would you consider our deal completed then?” Tav asked, apprehensively. 

“You have upheld your end of the agreement, exceptionally well, might I add, bar this evening's hiccup. Now please, let me show you my appreciation.” 

A dash of colour appeared on Tav’s cheeks as she wiped away the remaining tears. She grabbed her backpack, placing the Crown inside. She swiftly reached for Raphael’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Raphael nodded in acknowledgment and led Tav through the portal. 

Indeed, their deal was complete, but Raphael wasn’t done with Tav yet. She would continue to prove a valuable ally and more in the months to come.

[darknight3904]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ���ᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Guess who's back? Me, and the main plot line. No more fluff chapters, bitches.

Rhaella is 18, Aemond 17

132 AC

The announcement of Lord Corlys' accident was sudden. It was even more sudden that Vaemond, his brother, was coming to Kings Landing to challenge the succession. To her own disappointment, Lucerys' legitimacy would once again be called into question.

Rhaella's trip to Highgarden was but three days away. Most of her things had been packed and her room was rather bare. She hadn't spoken to Aemond much recently. He had avoided her as if that would stop Rhaella's impending doom. It was as if through avoidance they could remain in the youth they were desperately clinging to.

"Might you know when Princess Rhaenrya's family will arrive? I wish to go for a short flight but I want to be able to greet my cousins." She asked her handmaiden.

"I have heard word that their ship was spotted in the Blackwater, My Lady." She responded as she finished lacing the blue dress that adorned Rhaella's body.

"My flight will have to wait then." She sighed, they'd be here soon, "Might you fetch Prince Aemond for me? We have not spoken recently."

"Yes, My Lady."

Aemond was in perfect form today. He motions were fluid and Cole was having a hard time holding him back. The past fortnight of practice was paying off. He felt bad some nights, knowing he had left Rhaella waiting in the library for him. But, he could not be around her now, knowing she was shipping off for Highgarden of all places. That Lord Tyrell's disgusting pig of a son would marry her. His jealousy would well up in him whenever he saw her. He wasn't entirely sure what he was feeling was normal. The possessiveness? He'd never felt this before, not even over Vhagar.

"Something on your mind, My Prince?" Cole asked as his sword met Aemond's again.

"No." Aemond lied

"I can offer insight if you speak to me," Cole says, pushing against Aemomd.

"Why? So you can tell my mother?" Aemond seethes, thinking of how Cole spilled everything he heard and saw to Alicent Hightower.

"Prince Aemond!" The shrill voice of a handmaiden catches his ears

"What?"

Aemond came to her reeking of sweat and the training yard.

"You interrupted my morning session." He said as he entered without knocking

"You have been avoiding me," Rhaella says, ignoring the way he drops sweat-soaked gloves onto her table.

"You've been avoiding me." Aemond pointed at her

Where did he get the audacity to act like this? So brazen.

"You have spent the last fortnight training and flying like you do not know of our prearranged time in the library together," Rhaella said

"Maybe I don't want to spend my days reading." Aemond dismissed

Liar.

"You lie, Aemond." Rhaella sighed, "I expect to see you in the library after tonight's supper. I have found an interesting book on Old Valyria, you will enjoy it."

"I just said I do not wish to be in the library with you. It is-"

Aemond is interrupted by the doors to Rhaella's chamber being pushed open.

"Princess Rhaenrya, Prince Daemon, and their family have arrived. The queen wants both of you in the throne room for the hearing." A nameless errand boy says before dashing back out.

"The library." Rhaella says, standing to brush past Aemond, "Tonight."

Rhaella can hear him grumble as she passes.

Aemond arrives in the throne room nearly fifteen minutes after Rhaella does. She takes in his appearance and presumes he must've run off to fix his hair and cover the scent of sweat with something.

Otto Hightower's voice fills the room as Rhaella's eyes fall on Jacaerys and Lucerys who have grown up since she has last seen them. Dark messy hair sits atop their hair and Jacaery's dark eyes follow her own as she takes him in. He offers a small smile and a nod of his head. Rhaella returns it and can't help but notice how handsome he has become. While he did not bear Targaryen coloring, his facial features certainly held the sharpness of a Targaryen prince.

Vaemond Velaryon has stepped into the center of the room now. He speaks of being Lord Corlys' closest blood. Rhaella can feel the eyes of the room turn to Lucerys as Rhaenrya speaks, affirming her son's position as heir. On her right, Aemond shifts his weight from one foot to the other, letting out a sigh like he was bored.

"Cunt."

Aemond's whispered voice falls on her ears. She isn't sure who he's speaking of now. Perhaps Vaemond or Lucerys? Or maybe Rhaenrya who is getting ready to make her counter argument. Or perhaps the insult is directed at Daemon who, much to Rhaella's dismay hasn't stopped smirking from his spot next to Rhaenrya.

"My Lord Hand, " Rhaenrya begins, "It was but twenty years ago that my father stood in this hall and named me-"

The sound of heavy doors being opened set a lull over the proceedings.

Kingsguard enters the room followed by a sight Rhaella hasn't seen in years, the King, walking.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen. First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Roynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

King Viserys slowly makes his way to the Iron Throne. When he finally reaches it and dismisses Otto Hightower, he is exhausted. Rhaella can hear his heavy breathing echoing about the throne room.

The loud clatter of metal hitting stone has Rhaella turning around to see what has happened. The golden crown that King Jaeherys had once worn has fallen to the floor. She half expects the queen or Rhaenrya to pick it up but her father beats them all to it. Rhaella watches as the man who she had deemed selfish and a cold-hearted fool, helps his brother up the steps to the throne. Daemon places the crown on Viserys' head before returning to his spot. The tension in the room is heavy on her chest as everyone awaits Visery's word.

"I must admit my confusion." Viserys says "Why are petitions being heard over a settled succession?"

Rhaella looks over at Vaemond Velaryon who has anger swimming in his eyes.

"I believe the only person who could offer better insight into Lord Corlys' wishes is the Princess Rhaenys."

Rhaella watches as she comes forward to speak. She hasn't seen her since she threw her out of her room for knowing about what happened to Lady Rhea.

"I have always supported Lord Corlys' wish that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support." Rhaenys says

Rhaella has to contain the glee that is on her face at Lucerys' secured position.

"Princess Rhaenrya has just informed me of her decision to marry Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys to their cousins Baela and Rhaena." Rhaenys says, " A proposal to which I agreed."

Rhaella looks at her half sisters who are no longer little girls who have tangles in their hair and stuffed dolls tucked under their arms. They have grown up, Long silver hair much like her own tumble down their backs and their pretty faces are staring back at her.

"The matter is settled. Again." Viserys says "I reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark."

"You break law and centuries of tradition to name your daughter as heir." Vaemond suddenly speaks "Yet you presume to tell me who gets to inherit the name Velaryon? No...I will not allow it."

"Allow it?' Viserys says "Do not forget yourself Vaemond."

"That is no true Velaryon!" Vaemond suddenly shouts, whirling around to point at Lucerys.

Rhaella's eyes jump to Rhaenrya and her family.

"He is no nephew of mine." Vaemond declares

"Lucerys is my true-born grandson. You are no more the second son of Driftmark." Viserys affirms

"You may run your house as you see fit." Vaemond says, turning back to the King," But you will not decide the future of mine. I will not see it ended on the account of this..."

Vaemond has turn to face Lucerys again, a pause in his sentence, like he can't say what he wants to.

"Say it."

Daemon's whisper reaches Rhaella's ears and she looks at her father who is smirking at Vaemond.

"Her children are...Bastards!"

The volume of Vaemond's voice sends echos around the throne room. Rhaella jumps at his tone. not expecting it at all.

"And she...is...a whore."

Rhaella gasps along with the rest of the court. She sees even Queen Alicent shake her head in disapproval.

"I...will have your tongue for that." Viserys suddenly says, pulling the dagger he keeps at his side out.

It happens in just barely a second. Daemon is on the move and makes a clean cut to Vaemond's head with Dark Sister. Rhaella jumps toward Aemond who pulls her close to him as Vaemond's body hits the ground.

"He can keep his tongue." Daemon says looking down at a now very dead Vaemond Velaryon.

"Disarm him!" Otto Hightower yells

"No need," Daemon says, wiping the blood from his sword and returning to Rhaenrya.

Aemond's arms are still holding Rhaella tightly but his eye is fixed on the sight in front of them. On the bloody corpse of Vaemond Velaryon. On Daemon Targaryen and his sword called Dark Sister.

Next Part

Guess who's still alive? Me. I didn't die of jetlag. I had a nice vacation. Minus the whole getting trapped in the airport and getting delayed two extra days...anyway I have returned.

I saw the Deadpool and Wolverine movie yesterday. In conclusion, Wade Wilson is hot af and Wolverine is so shredded my jaw was on the floor. Hugh Jackman the man that you are...

Here's some fun pictures of my trip, I kinda wish I could've taken the chickens home...

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[wyniepooh]

Want

stuck in a dark, crowded bar, stuck against aaron hotchner. you want him to give in, he just wants you.

oh my GOD EXTREME tension. in fact the only plot point can be summed up in one word: TENSION. mentions of alcohol and tipsiness. bau!reader struggling with a particular case, hotch comforts… and does a little more 😊

the music was blaring entirely too loud.

your second drink was starting to become watered down as the light buzz you craved swarmed your head from your first. when you touched the cold glass, water wet your warm fingertips. a strong breeze enabled you to shiver and look towards the entrance, where a large group of young college students swarmed into the already stuffed and cramped room.

your ears had began to ring, and the flickering lights were making your eyes heavy with pain. you thought about walking out, getting some night air, and feeling the moonlight shine on your face. but when you finally decided to try and get up, there was barely any space left for you to even lift your arms up. you sighed, sitting back down on the beat up stool, elbows resting on the bar table.

“you okay?” the familiarly deep voice asked. you turned your head to reveal aaron behind you, still wearing what he had on this morning in the bau headquarters— his usual, perfectly tight suit with a scarily neat tie. the only noticeable difference in his appearance was that his usually gelled hair was, god forbid, messy. a couple stands of dark hair fell in front of his forehead.

you flashed him a brief smile, “yeah, fine.” you fiddled with the flashy umbrella toothpick in your glass.

he raised his brows, saying nothing because he knew the look in his eyes said it all. he knew how you really felt, but he also knew you would never admit you were anything but fine.

“still thinking about the case, aren’t you?”

you scoffed, “how could i not?” as you took another sip of your drink, images of the various children that were rescued from an abandoned truck flashed through your mind. they were alive, yes. but how could they possibly live life like they used to before? do they even remember what it was like? the sound of a screaming girl filled your brain.

you ran both your hands through your hair, letting out a loud sigh. “god, i hate when kids are involved.”

“i know. me too.”

“they just..” you gulped back a stone in your throat, “they’re so innocent. or, they were once. but now… it’s all gone. i hate that they won’t ever chase butterflies or play in the sand box again, or play in the snow or get ice cream on the beach. all those memories are ruined for them now.”

aaron let out a sigh. a beat passed, and you knew he was thinking of what to say. after a moment, the silence was interrupted by his hushed voice. “agent. they may not have their childhood anymore, but they’ll continue to have their teenagehood, their adulthood, maybe their motherhood or fatherhood. and it’s all because of the work you’ve done. the work we’ve all done. focus on the good. instead of thinking about what they were, think about what they will be.”

you lowered your head slightly, your hair falling to cover you face. you smiled to yourself over his words. fuck, he always knew what to say. why did he always have to know what to say?

a comfortable silence fell upon the two of you as he settled on the stool beside you. he declined the bartender for a drink with a firm extend of his hand, turning his whole body towards you instead. you opened your mouth, then closed it. you wanted to thank him, or at least say something. but no words could be heard coming from your mouth.

aaron, as usual, noticed your discomfort. he tilted his head towards the door with a soft grin and said,

“let’s get out of here.”

you chuckled gratefully, nodding and pushing back your stool to allow yourself to try and get up once again. but before you could turn around, a sudden push pressed your stomach harshly against the bar table.

you exclaimed quietly before looking back at the crowd and rolling your eyes as a sigh came over you. you were completely trapped between the bar table and a group of drunk, dancing, college guys singing annoyingly off-key. seeing your position, hotch comes over and wedges himself between you and a drunk guy who was letting his hands fall a little too close to your tight jeans.

with his chest to your back, he rested a light hand on your arm, leaning down to whisper, “are you okay?”

your face flushed at the close proximity, his hand placement, and the way his words tingled your ears. you were suddenly thankful the room was so dark and swarming with strobe lights, as it was hopefully concealing your ragged breaths and red cheeks. you cleared your throat before responding.

“yeah, fine. just…” you wiggled and attempted to turn, “…totally stuck,” you chuckled.

another push came from behind, both his arms coming down to grip the bar table in front of you.

“just stay like this for a while. we’ll sneak out once this song ends and they stop singing like maniacs and spread out a little more.”

you nodded in response, your head down in embarrassment as you notice just how tight you two are pressed together, and how big his hands look resting on the table compared to yours. people on the dance floor began to move to the beat of the music, the waves of pushes like currents in the sea during a stormy night. another push. and another. one after the other.

whenever you turned your head or adjusted your position, you felt a rush of warm air kiss your ears, making your arms feel like jelly. you were glad the stool aided you in holding you up, as clearly, your arms couldn’t do the job any longer.

it certainly wasn’t the first time you’ve felt so nervous and electrified around aaron, but each time you did, you manage to surprise yourself with just how tender you get.

ever since you walked into the bau building, you knew you were screwed. just up laying eyes on aaron hotchner, you knew your days would suddenly start to feel longer. aaron with his neatly ironed suits, aaron with his gucci ties. aaron with his soothing, dark, voice, neat hair, and clean cologne. aaron who always, always checked up on everyone, aaron who would lightly touch your arm or caress the side of your face. aaron who says “atta girl”, and taps his hand on your back when he hugs. aaron who gave you soft smiles when other weren’t looking and aaron who only occasionally laughed at your lame jokes.

it was no surprise, really, that you had begun to look forward to getting up every morning to go to work.

a particularly harsh bump pushed aaron firmly against you, and a grunt make it’s way past his lips. it was hard to tell with all your senses on alert and tingling, but you heard him mumble something incoherently under his breath. you inhaled sharply, shaking your head quickly to get rid of the butterflies in your stomach.

you told yourself maybe it was the alcohol speaking. maybe the strobe lights were making you hallucinate, or maybe the music was making you think of other things. all of it was responsible for making you imagine the quickening of aaron’s heartbeat against your back, his ragged breaths, the way his hands tightened it’s grip on the table.

but really, in that moment, the music zoned out. your eyes no longer hurt from the flashing lights and everyone disappeared from view. it was just you, and him.

you finally found the courage to turn your head and look back at him, his forehead a little sweaty and his lips pursued. you looked down quickly. the both of you were so close, yet so far. he was holding back. his need, his desire. a fated push caused aaron’s nose to rub roughly against yours, and your broken breaths synced. you leaned forward, your nose still on his. you opened your mouth as if to say something, but you said nothing. you didn’t need to.

you eyes moved up to try and find his, but he was already looking at you. one of his hands came down to rest on your stomach, inching you even deeper against him. he leaned down, his lips barely brushing yours. it was completely silent for a moment. then, he breathed,

“do you want this?”

-

a/n: consent is sexy everyone 😇

[violetdisasterzone]

Luo Binghe & Selflessness

There's a great post by @/jayktoralldaylong talking about how all the love interests in MXTX's novels prioritize the safety and well-being of the MCs rather than prioritizing - or even expecting - their love being returned. And image my surprise when the first reply I see is "Except Binghe. That bitch will sleep with your corpse," with others agreeing and calling him the "worst MXTX character" in the tags. I am yet again asking, did we read the same book? Luo Binghe is just as single-mindedly devoted to Shen Qingqiu as any of the others. Evidence of this is found at every turn during the main plot of Scum Villain: the plot during which he was actively possessed by a sentient evil sword. A sword which in a different timeline - a timeline without Shen Yuan - almost single-handedly turned Luo Bingge into a tyrant. He is under this influence for a majority of volumes 2 and 3 (of the Eng. transl.), which is also when he is accused of being "crazy" or "pushy" in regards to Shen Qingqiu.

Since the reply that inspired this post discussed the 5 years in which Shen Qingqiu was dead, that's what I'll address first. When Shen Qingqiu self-destructs, Luo Binghe is caught extremely off guard. It's easy, I think, to forget or disregard just how awful and confusing the entire novel's events have been for Binghe so far. Accepted to Qing Jing and subsequently horrifically abused for 4 years; a sudden, drastic, unexplained change in Shen Qingqiu and a blissful 3 years of peace; pushed into hell and utterly betrayed in an act of what appears to be very out of character hypocrisy. And when he returns (now in possession of the aforementioned sentient evil sword), he stays away from Cang Qiong and becomes a respectable cultivator in his own right, so that maybe, maybe Shen Qingqiu would accept him once again. And then he runs into Shen Qingqiu enjoying the company of someone who looks exactly like him; yet Shen Qingqiu runs from him, acting as though Binghe is the one who is dangerous, who is going to hurt him. Of course, Shen Qingqiu is justified in his fear, based on his own perceptions of the situation. But Luo Binghe does not know this.

Immediately following Shen Qingqiu's destruction is one of the only times we get a firsthand glimpse into Luo Binghe's perspective. This line is from the moments after he catches Shen Qingqiu's body: "Didn't Shizun hate his blood more than anything? Wasn't he unwilling to even be near him, to associate with him at all?" In the following pages is when he learns, for the first time that "Shizun too was...utterly heartbroken" during his time in the Abyss. When the chapter ends, Luo Binghe is still in utter shock, wiping the blood from Shen Qingqiu's face and trying, uselessly, to explain that he was just angry, that he just wanted to make him happy. We don't see the part of the scene where Luo Binghe leaves with the body, but it is not hard to infer that, in his complete state of denial and shock, his mind recently saved from an agonizing deviation, he was unwilling to part from his Shizun.

During the five years of Shen Qingqiu's absence, Luo Binghe kept his body in as perfect a state as possible. As we see in the Deep Dream extra, Luo Binghe brings Mu Qingfang (who he seems to respect, however minimally) to Huan Hua Pavilion some time after the events of Hua Yue City (which we know because Mu Qingfang expects Shen Qingqiu's body to "have long since festered and decayed"). We, as Shen Qingqiu, then get a glimpse into what Luo Binghe does with the body: he cooks countless meals that will go uneaten, and he transfers qi to prevent that decay. Skin to skin contact is the most direct way to transfer qi, as supported in many other scenes, including the flashback scene in this same extra. This type of qi transfer can also be carried out while sleeping, as evidenced in the Bing-mei vs. Bing-ge extra, providing a regulated stream of spiritual energy for an entire night. As Mu Qingfang said earlier, this uses up "an enormous amount of spiritual power" and is only enough to keep his body protected "for a single day" without reversing everything. Luo Binghe is immensely powerful, but even protagonists are not built to drain themselves every night for 5 years, while also fighting off Xin Mo, running Huan Hua, controlling the demon realm, and NOT giving up on everything. When Shen Qingqiu is thought to be dead in the minutes after Maigu Ridge, Luo Binge "almost tried to follow" him. And yet, when he believed there was even a chance he might return, he held on "for almost two thousand more of these days and nights."

The only other time we see Luo Binghe's interactions with the corpse is when Shen Qingqiu, undiscovered in the plant body, witnesses Liu Qingge's infiltration. In this, it is said that "Luo Binghe was unwilling to harm the corpse, so he could only release it." It's worth mentioning that, if Liu Qingge had managed to take the body back to Cang Qiong - or, what sequence is initiated when he does - it will be given burial rights, it will decay, and Shen Qingqiu will never again have a possibility of inhabiting it. Luo Binghe cannot let this happen; it's not merely about possession or attachment. And yet, he would sooner allow this possibility that allowing even the potential of harm to come to him.

When all is said and done, after Luo Binghe has been broken out of Xin Mo's control and Shen Qingqiu does not die - the first thing he does is return him to Cang Qiong Mountain. When Shen Qingqiu suggests that they leave, together, Luo Binghe is "dumbfounded." He fully expected to be left, for Shen Qingqiu to be unwilling. He would have done anything for Shen Qingqiu and expected nothing in return.

At his core, even under influence and in emotional turmoil, Luo Binghe's love is unfalteringly selfless. There are so many examples of this, both in the main plot and in the post-canon extras, but I think this post is long enough already. Suffice it to say that nothing is more important that Shen Qingqiu to Luo Binghe - least of all himself.

[oloreandil]

Months and months ago I saw this post with these tags by nateriverswife (whose blogs no longer exists): "#I wonder why he corrected himself #was it to keep an emotional distance from them or something". I had a look at the surrounding chapters and thought “Wow, it’s interesting that Near uses two different types of building blocks for his castles :)”. And now here I am. Let’s talk about how Near’s use of toys parallels his state of mind and investigative methods as he solves the Kira case !

I’m tagging @neallo and @applestorms since they asked to know when this would be up ! (it's been 84 years… hello……). My deepest thanks to @peace-and-a-place-of-your-own for reading this over !

Puzzle (vol. 7 – ch. 59 + 61)

No toys during vol. 8 – ch. 65

Near first appears in the manga completely isolated and refusing contact : he doesn’t want to play with the other children at the orphanage, instead, he’s completing the same puzzle on a loop, entirely white with an L in the corner (started from the middle because it’s harder but he knows it by heart anyway. And also to flex, I assume). Roger calls him to his office with Mello to tell them that L is dead right before he can complete the letter, to really lay it thick with the symbolism.

On top of that, to highlight the dichotomy of Near as withdrawn and Mello as animated, Mello is first shown playing football outside. He says to Roger : “Unlike me, Near will calmly and unemotionally solve the puzzle”. To him, this ability to plan and not throw himself into action is Near’s best quality and something essential to being L. In French, Mello talks about self control rather than calmness, which I actually think is more accurate both to what we see and what he envies about Near. In turn, Mello’s capacity for action and his adaptability are what Near envies about Mello, but he isn’t able to argue his case and Mello refused the title of L anyway.

After the ellipsis, we see Near again when he talks to the president of the USA and the SPK members. Now that he’s no longer in a place catered to child geniuses, and especially if he’s not playing with any toys (like in ch. 65), he looks really uncomfortable : fidgeting, playing with his hair, or sitting away from the “real adults” planning the investigation. Though he’s led the Kira case since L’s death, the past 5 years have been uneventful and Near had no occasion to legitimise his claim to the succession.

House of cards (vol. 7 – ch. 61)

Matchstick towers (vol. 8 – ch 62)

Darts (vol. 8 – ch. 63 + 64)

Dice tower (vol. 8 – ch. 66)

And then… Mello kidnaps several people and shoots the Death Note into a rocket, kicking the second half of the plot into action very unexpectedly and forcing everyone to react to his plans, instead of forming their own.

Near builds increasingly elaborate towers as his counter-measures have to get more and more complex : first out of playing cards, then out of matchsticks (glued together), and finally out of dice. He starts out unsure of how to deal with the sudden public-facing role of calling the Task Force, then most of his plans go up in flames as Mello successfully steals the notebook. During the first few calls with Light, Near is trying to get a feel for what tactics to use against him and doesn’t succeed either (all of the dart he throws end up on the floor). Finally, the rest of his plans come crashing down along with his dice as the SPK members shoot themselves under the influence of Mello’s notebook. The sound of the dice falling bleeds into the sound of gunshots, which is a very neat way of integrating Near’s prop in the flow of the story and serve as a visual parallel to the bodies falling on the floor.

For the first time, Near is physically confronted to the reality that he and his team can die, and he can’t always prevent it, and it will be his fault. Mello didn’t even make them die of a heart attack, he purposefully made them take their own lives, to show Near’s who’s really in control. It’s harrowing, no matter how hard he tries to hide it – this is the most sincere emotion he’s shown so far, and the most shaken he ever looks in the manga. While he opposes the rhetoric of Kira (that you have rights over other people’s life) from the start, I think that’s when Near starts properly formulating the takedown he delivers in the warehouse.

In a really ironic turn of events, Light is the one to tell Near what he has to change : “It’s meaningless to be at each other’s throats like this… I’m not asking you to work under me, […] we should just share our information…”. Yes, this is in part an emotional decision, I don’t think Near (or most Death Note characters) enjoy seeing people die needlessly and he made an effort to accommodate the people he worked with. But this is mostly pragmatic : if collaborating gives you the best chances at adapting to the circumstances and winning, and you don’t have an ego to put first or secret goals to conceal, then that’s what you do !

Toy robots and planes (vol. 8 – ch. 67, vol. 9 – ch. 77)

Hand-carved dart, shaped like a bird (vol. 9 – ch 71)

Lego brick castle (ch. 75)

Train tracks (vol. 9 – ch. 76)

In his newfound quest for adaptability, Near is now building toys capable of movement ! He’s not quite there yet (the robot’s arm falls down when he talks to Light), but he already has a better understanding of everyone’s flaws and how they articulate in the case : Mello’s need to prove himself, Light’s ego, and his own unwillingness to take risks. Even when he builds another wall to hide behind, he quickly destroys it and keeps theorising about Light being Kira (with the hilarious reveal of the skull inside the robocop toy).

Near also starts to carefully detail each step of his plans to the SPK, using more and more representational toys. It starts very rough (like the dart he carves), like he hasn’t found the best way to translate what he is thinking into words – or words they will understand easily, and he is still separated from them by train tracks and facing the other way (until the confrontation with Mello in ch. 77). Meanwhile, Light has been spiralling since Soichiro’s death. The more he feels cornered by Near, the more secretive he becomes, even when sharing information wouldn’t threaten to reveal him. Not following his own advice makes it very, very easy for Near to contrast their behaviours and put the past 5 years of inaction into perspective for the Task Force.

Side note : the title of ch. 75 is “Reconnaissance” in French, which holds both meanings of “reconnaissance mission” and “gratefulness”. Looking out for a better path, and being grateful that you survived long enough to be able to do that !

Tarot cards (vol 9 – ch. 78)

As Near finds his footing in the investigation and develops ways of expressing himself clearly, he starts using more and more custom toys : pre-made strategies only work when you’re facing stupid or preprogrammed opponents, and in turn mass market props can only supplement his explanations for so long. He can’t leave anything to chance or fate, he has to win over both the circumstances and the players, which is really ironic since the first entirely custom prop he uses is a tarot set. Each card is Death except one for Kira which is the Devil, but Light doesn’t actually see them : the cards are visual tools entirely for the benefit of the SPK (and the reader), as opposed to provocation for Kira (in direct opposition to L’s tactics at the beginning, when he didn’t mind playing with Lind L. Tailor’s life).

Spatial base (vol 9 – ch. 79 and vol. 10 – ch. 81)

Mogi (vol. 10 – ch. 81)

Dice with skulls (vol. 10 – ch. 81 + 82 + 83)

When he and Mello team up to kidnap Mogi and interrogate him, Near is sitting in the middle of a massive spatial base launching toy spacecrafts into the air. Even though it ends with Near having to flee in a helicopter while dropping wads of cash on an angry mob, this is one of the most crucial moments for his victory. Not only does he get confirmation that Kira is the second L and plant that idea in the heads of the Task Force during his meeting with Aizawa, but he also manages to show Mello that collaborating leads to the best outcomes.

Controversially perhaps, I’m gonna add Mogi to the list of props, since faking Mogi’s death right after their escape is what coaxes Aizawa into meeting with the SPK. That’s one of the most manipulative tricks that Near pulls on the other investigators, but compared to the torture contraption that L puts Misa into or Light making people write charades before they die, Mogi bound on a chair with duct tape over his mouth feels almost cartoonish. While I am arguing here that Near is the person in power who holds the most respect for the people he is working with (or even fighting against), he still does that in ways that have the narrative weight of vicious little kids trying by all means to get their ways. That false equivalency, along with his evil frog smirks and his myriad of toys, gives a visual balance to Light making sinister faces at the camera, but the tactics are fundamentally different.

It was a gamble to trust Aizawa and Mogi with seeing his face (right as Near opens mystery dice boxes, some of which have skulls on them), but trust keeps paying off and he gets the information he wanted while still respecting their boundaries in terms of what they feel comfortable revealing : confirmation that Light is Kira. He immediately shares that information with Mello… apart from Light’s name, just to see how fast Mello figures it out. That’s about as far as Near actually engages with the idea that he and Mello are competing to catch Kira before the other, since that never seemed to be the most viable plan to him in the first place.

Motorised rubber ducks (vol. 10 – ch. 86 + 88)

Paper Tokyo tower (vol. 11 – ch. 89)

With a secure network of allies and the net closing in on Light, Near moves his headquarters to Japan, first sending Rester, Linder and Gevanni (while playing with motorised rubber ducks in a pool), before he goes there himself (announcing it while building a papercraft Tokyo Sky Tree). Even the SPK didn’t expect this move from him, which I think is the reason why he uses the NHN to tell Mello (and Light, by the same occasion). This is also the first time that SPK agents are going on extended missions outside the headquarters, with great risk since their faces will be out in the open, something Near worries about out loud several times and tries to mitigate.

Lego Kira (vol. 11 – ch. 90 + 92 + 93 + 94)

Then, Near reveals that he wants to confront Kira in person as he unboxes what is, according to HTR13, the official “NHN shooting game set (With block dolls)”. Rester comments he had to wait “hours” in line to get them, but I’m truly doubtful that in a pro-Kira world, a company would mass produce a shooting game featuring Kira’s chosen TV network, with two notebooks included and also the SPK… I'm assuming this is a retcon from HTR13, since it was written after the fact. They simply act as Near’s placeholder props while he finishes the finger puppets (they first showed up during ch. 85 and reappear in ch. 94).

In any case, the fake gun included in the set is immediately used by Near to dismiss the idea of killing Kira and his associates before the case is solved, and after that, only as a last resort. Mello, Light and Near play the same game with vastly different rules : the mafia and the Kira team have licence to kill, but Near and his allies (the SPK and the Task Force) do not. Near outright refuses to kill Light and prove his guilt after the fact, both because it would fail to morally oppose Kira, even if it were more convenient, and they have the added goal of preventing someone else from continuing Kira’s mission.

I love that Near presents this as the same reasoning L had, when the closest we get is… Light himself, during the Yotsuba arc. Poring over insane amounts of data to set up your plans, bending the rules as much as possible while never breaking them, and stopping at hard moral boundaries regardless of how much it complicates your work, that’s a far cry from L’s style. He never really considered it an investigation against Kira in all potential incarnations, as opposed to a one-on-one entertaining fight against Light.

Christmas tree decorated with various toys (vol. 11 – ch. 92)

Marbles maze (vol. 11 – ch. 95)

Ultraman figurines (vol. 11 – ch. 97)

After the interim Lego are no longer needed, the only props Near uses to talk about the case are his finger puppets. Most if not all of the other toys are just that : toys. He used them as an investigative tool, a way to talk through his plans out loud for himself and the other people that needed to follow along (and there is an arrogance in thinking they wouldn’t be able to understand him otherwise !), but ultimately, Near just likes to play. He looks and is the youngest of the cast, an even bigger reminder that most of the main characters had their childhoods stolen by expectations placed on their intellect. The many toy robots shown in Near’s last panel (ch. 108), or the insane displays in the one-shots, only highlight that he clings to that comfort in an otherwise pretty desolate life.

Handmade puppets (vol. 10 – ch. 85, vol. 11 – ch. 94 + 96 + 98, vol. 12 – ch. 100 + 101 + 103 + 104 + 105 + 106)

Mask (vol. 12 – ch. 101 + 103 + 104 + 105 + 106)

No toys during vol. 12 – ch. 107

Official puppet time ! The buglies ! One of my favourite parts of Death Note !

The first finger puppets we see are L, Kira and the second Kira while Near is looking into the real identity of the second L. The SPK puppets appear in the background of ch. 85, along with a few tools (moulds, paint…), so we know Near is hand-making puppets for everyone in the investigation. Even though Near’s own face remains protected until the final confrontation, when he knows he’s won, putting a face on every person he uses in his plans prevents them from feeling like interchangeable pawns.

L’s finger puppet is shockingly accurate, despite Near never seeing him or finding any pictures. He has, at most, descriptions from the university students who briefly saw him 6 years ago. It’s made from the same cast as Near’s puppet, but in this scene he is distancing himself once again from both the first and second L – Kira.

On the one hand, Kira is the morally corrupt enemy that managed to stall the Task Force’s investigation by infiltrating them and making them run circles around him while he carried out his plans. On the other hand, the first L was reckless and lacked foresight, showing his face to Light early in the investigation out of overconfidence. Risky moves are flashy if they pay off, but this one didn’t, erasing L and his work and setting the case back 5 years in the process. We have an echo of Near’s words in the Wammy flashback : “If you can’t beat the game […] you’re nothing more than a loser”. In comparison, Near tries to be as methodic as he can in his takedown of Kira. I also love that Near reacts very differently to Mello’s recklessness, but that’s a rabbit hole for another day.

In contrast to the others, end even though Near knows his face, Light has the only puppet which isn’t life-like. Instead, it looks like a generic (if mischievous) boy scout with a mask scribbled on. The girl scout puppet is not Misa but the concept of the second Kira – someone who kills on Light’s behalf, and therefore a counterpart to Light’s figure. According to Obata in the HTR13 interviews, it’s like Near made them look like he could have bought the puppets elsewhere, and the level of care and realism he puts into each figure directly correlates to how much he esteems the person represented (Mello’s being the most detailed). That means he deliberately chose not to afford Kira the humanity of a face, even as Misa, Takada and Mikami get realistic (-ish…) puppets. Since Near is very concerned with preventing the passing down of the notebook and motives to kill, Light, as a person, doesn’t matter in the face of his ideology. I think that’s one of the only indulgences Near allows himself in the investigation : never hiding his disgust for Kira, be it through an ugly finger puppet or mocking Light during their calls.

Near reverts back to the puppets from the customised Lego until ch. 94, only keeping the Lego notebooks (that he adds a Death Note cover to, after seeing Mikami’s notebook).

The Task Force and SPK puppets often show up when Near is talking about how to prevent Kira from killing them all or manipulating them with the Death Note : talking Aizawa out of trying to catch Kira himself, making sure Mikami doesn’t write Gevanni’s name in the notebook and win the warehouse confrontation, or kidnapping Misa so Light can’t use her as the second Kira. He has to avoid a scenario where he is the last one fighting against Kira at all costs, especially after the planned confrontation in the warehouse where he would be unable to physically protect himself.

Misa is unpredictable and dangerous in unknown proportions, so she gets a realistic but crude figure. The Task Force is well-meaning but useless and easily fooled, if Aizawa and Mogi get perfectly fine depictions, Matsuda and Ide have barely-resembling puppets (especially since Near thinks way less of them). The SPK figures, meanwhile, are very life-like and pretty flattering compared to others. Near also doesn’t use them much, but they often appear around his puppet during explanations – since they are essential parts of his plans and he is in active communication with all of them, they work as extensions of him in the outside world.

After that, we see Mikami and Takada’s puppets, now full-time actors as the second Kira. Takada’s puppet is low effort compared to most, and I should point out: Misa and her being sidelined as stupid or irrelevant pawns, even through the eyes of other characters, is one of the many sexists narratives of Death Note. Mikami’s puppet however is grotesquely detailed, with claw-like fingers and just… the most wonderful hair and grin. Could it be that in spite of Near’s utter contempt for his beliefs, he admires Mikami’s perfectly calibrated routine ? That’s certainly a lifestyle he could follow…

Quick note on the puppets : a large number of them don’t have discernable eyeballs, but those that do all have them pointed up, except Near and L who are looking straight ahead (quite vacantly). We see them mainly from Near’s level – meaning, the floor – but if you were a member of the SPK standing next to him, they would be looking up at you, with only Near's puppet avoiding your gaze, like the real one does. What a lovely and creepy detail !

For the end of vol. 11, we wait for the warehouse confrontation with barely any puppet action. That’s when we see Near play with the robots and marbles, even though we sometimes see the rest of the puppets in the background. He doesn’t have much to explain since all his plans are in place, the latency period was only necessary to make sure Gevanni doesn’t die 23 days after touching the notebook, as per the fake rule. Mello is once again the one to shake things up by kidnapping Takada and allowing Near to realise the notebook he tampered with was fake. In a single day, the puzzle pieces have to fall into place : either Gevanni manages to replace the real notebook, or Kira wins and kills them all.

Near takes all of the finger puppets to the warehouse apart from Misa : the SPK members, the Task Force, Kira (along with Takada and Mikami), and all iterations of L (himself, Mello, and L). He also wears an L mask, which Light is really upset about for completely normal nemesis-related reasons. This is the first time Light, Ryuk, Ide and Matsuda see Near and the visual aids for his explanations, and it doesn’t inspire them much trust. He looks so creepy (and in a scene where optics really matter !), surrounded by the dolls and telling them to wait for Mikami to write their names in the notebook, that even Mogi and Aizawa start to suspect Near has trapped them or is Kira himself – though they still decide to momentarily trust his judgement.

This is the final time Near has anything to demonstrate, but Light is wrong when he thinks of it as a one-on-one battle – Near isn’t solely focused on Light like L was, and monitoring Mikami so closely is actually one of the keys for his victory. But what he highlights, and what Light seems most shocked by, is that he communicated with the SPK, the Task Force, and even Mello to some extent, and that their coordination and cooperation is what allows them to win. With the L, Mello and Near dolls on his fingers, Near taunts him as he wholly demolishes whatever was left of Kira’s chances to rule the world.

After the first page of ch. 105, when Light says “That’s right. I am Kira”, there is nothing left to prove and the mask and puppets are only part of the background… except the Kira puppet, which Near crushes between his fingers after Light finally admits the truth. They don’t appear at all during ch. 107, in which Light dies, always hidden by the framing or other characters. Near basically ceases to be a character after that. We don’t see his thoughts anymore, and he speaks twice : once to reassure the others that Ryuk will not help Light by killing them, and then once more in ch. 108 to ask Aizawa for help with a drug busting operation in Japan, a year after the case.

When I first read Death Note, I was surprised how much Near fades into the background at the exact moment of Light’s downfall, but not only is his narrative role over, so is his implication in the case. Near does not have a personal attachment to Light, or to proving Light (and no one else) is Kira, no reason to gloat endlessly or question whether that case will come back to haunt him… In the two subsequent one-shots, Near deals with the new killers not as apparitions of a former enemy, but as new notebook owners, none of them even close to having Kira’s ambitions. You could say he looks depressed the same way L did during the Yotsuba arc, or the way Light did after he killed L, but I would interpret it as intense boredom and loneliness rather than sulking or obsessive sadness.

I still don't feel like I've said it all – what do I make of the two indiscernible puppets Near sets up on L’s mask, the giant L towers made of playing cards and the Ryuk head from the one-shots, I haven't even talked about precisely how Near sits on the floor while he plays – but I have to stop somewhere in my thesis and that shall be it. I would be more than delighted to hear your opinion if you’ve read this far, I hope I've demonstrated that I love talking about this !

Edit: I forgot to link this excellent post on Near by @/empressofthewind that gave me the last push to finish this !!! Required further reading, I might say !!

(dis)honourable unrelated mentions :

Mello is introduced barefoot (apparently playing football with bare grippers…) and there’s a panel of his toes clenched in fury at L’s passing. Immediately after he decides to leave L’s role to Near, he’s wearing leather boots, and this is NOT a coincidence ← average theory in a 20 year-old fandom

The French translation is immaculate. 100/10 no notes. I had so many good laughs, everyone say thank you Shinya Seto, Myloo Anhmet and Guillaume Abadie for their amazing work ! This has cemented in my mind that Ohba should switch gears to comedy, where he will undoubtedly excel

During their raid on Mello’s mafia hideout (vol. 9 – ch. 73), Light calls his father “Deputy director” until he finally corners Mello, at which point he loses all professionalism and yells “Dad, his face ? Did you see his face ?”. It’s so interesting how Kira is consistently the most childish, naive and impulsive side of Light. The worst of it comes off during the warehouse confrontation, where Light has to physically refrain himself from smirking or cackling before he’s sure he’s won, and doesn’t even manage to wait the full 40 seconds to confirm the others are dying before gloating (which he managed for L’s death…)

Mello points out that Soichiro’s hesitation to finish writing his name in the notebook is due to the fact that, in the entirety of his policeman career, he has never killed anyone. Harrowing that he dies relieved his son isn’t a murderer, because until the end, Soichiro believed that even state-sanctioned killing on the line of duty doesn’t absolve you of that crime !

Near has imo the most correct view of Kira supporters in the entire manga. When a mob swarms the SPK HQ in Kira’s name, he outlines 3 groups : genuine Kira supporters, those who got swept up by their frenzy, and people using Kira to justify acts of violence they would commit anyway. I think that parallels Kira’s journey, the inevitable end it brings Light to : sincerely held ideals of justice and a profound disgust for the way violence goes unchecked, increasingly worse justifications for his spiral of violence, and self-serving behaviour as he grapples to remain in power

Reading the interviews at the end of HTR13 is a trip. What do you mean Obata would have tried to convince Ohba to let Mello live at the end because he finds him so cool and loyal. What do you mean Obata paid special attention to apple drawings only for Ohba to tell him he didn’t think about any apple symbolism, sorry to disappoint. What do you mean they barely spoke or saw each other and Obata makes heart-eyes at Ohba so he can visit his “enchanting office, decorated western-style”. In fucking tears

To contradict my finger puppet analysis in a very funny way, O&O said in HTR13 that Near manipulating the events of the investigation, to the extent of playing with the other characters as puppets, was meant to show his “negative” and “dark” side (his dark and twisted mind, if you will). I genuinely love reading their interviews because it never fails to prove that the story you want to tell, the story that comes out of the printing press, and the story each individual reader will understand are wholly different concepts and should be treated as such

[spirk-trek]

Saw your post about struggling with life and I don't have any fic recommendations but maybe it'd be a nice distraction to share something you've been working on? Do you have any WIPs? Ideas? No pressure. I like to share my creativity with others when I'm down so I don't get stuck in my own head when life gets hard. Love your writing ❤️❤️ If that's too much right now you can just delete this and think about Jim and Spock kissing for a while ❤️

aw, anon, thank you. i like this idea a lot. it actually did help distract me :)

i wrote this almost a year ago after watching the tng episode 'future imperfect.' i have a little more written, but this is all i have ready to share without editing <3 ironically enough, super angsty. whoops. the plan was (is?) to have jim suffer a reoccurrence of vegan choriomeningitis (it's mentioned in the mark of gideon he almost died from it when he was young). it causes his memories to revert back to before he had it. each time he wakes up he's "moved forward" in time, aka his memories, but this also means the disease is progressing and killing him faster... ouch.

anyway! enjoy!

~*~*~*~

Conditions aboard the bridge were entirely normal.

It was a statement Spock would come to repeat several times in his logs. Conditions were, indeed, entirely normal. Alpha shift had recently begun, so with coffee dispersed and stations dutifully filled, the Enterprise was humming to life with familiar sights and sounds. Jim scratching tiredly at his jaw. Spock watching him without intending to. Jim grinning when their gazes caught each other’s.

Normal. Typical. Routine.

Spock swiveled his chair back around to face his station and began reviewing the updated positional reports. They were still halfway between one destination and the next, meaning a day heavy with scanning, navigation, and probe arrays which would follow the ship through space like silvery fish in the wake of a whale. Spock scanned over each plotted path until his chair tipped back imperceptibly.

“Anything interesting, Mr. Spock?”

Spock’s back remained straight, eyes forward. “As your use of that word is frequently subjective-” 

He froze as the weight behind him shifted forward, breath ghosting over his ear and down the side of his face. It smelled of mint. A meager sip of coffee. A fresh day.

“Oh well,” Jim lamented. “I suppose we’ll j-”

The half formed word cut off as he straightened abruptly. It was peculiar enough for a crease to appear between Spock’s brows before he turned to find a similarly confused expression on Jim’s face.

Then, he fell.

Consciousness fled the Captain all at once, jaw slack, eyes rolling as he went boneless, crumpling inelegantly to the floor. Spock’s reaction stuttered along with his heart below his ribs, stillness creeping into the world like death. 

 “Alert Doctor McCoy.” Spock gave the order to whoever decided to carry it out, ejecting himself from his chair and falling to his knees just as Lieutenant Uhura stood and took a step toward the Captain’s fallen form.  There was no expression in his suddenly pallid face, no hint of the man who had leaned into Spock moments ago. 

Spock spread long fingers over the side of Jim’s face, and a sensation so cold crept into him that he felt bile threaten to lurch up from the bottom of his stomach. 

It was... nothing.

Nothing. No pull from the meld points, even as he pressed the pads of his fingers to them, ignoring the circling of the crew. It did not matter if they could see his hand begin to shake as it parted from Jim’s brow, sliding instead to press against the side of his neck. Checking his pulse was not strictly necessary; Spock could hear the heart continue to beat below him even without contact, but he could not feel him. His essence. His spirit. Jim.

As members of the crew continued to surround them, Spock had to fight off a sudden swell of possessiveness which beckoned his limbs to curl around his t'hy'la. To force his mind inside the other’s and find where he had gone. To lead him away from those in this world who did not understand him as he-

“What happened?” 

The question was urgent, carried tightly through the warp of a Russian accent. The molten edge to Spock’s vision receded, but the feeling deep within him did not.

“The Captain has had a sudden loss of consciousness,” he answered promptly in a voice that was not his own. He forced his hands, heavy, clumsy, useless, away from the points on Jim’s face again. They had gravitated upward without any accompanying decision by their owner, and Spock found he did not know where to put them. He left them to curl like dead tree bark against the blackness of his knees as Sulu squatted down on the other side of Jim’s body. His gaze bounced between Spock’s face and his Captain’s chest, which rose and fell irregularly. Nobody spoke. Then, the swish of doors.

“Where is he?”

Spock sat back, preemptively accepting the doctor’s protrusion into the space when suddenly, his breath caught in his own throat. Or had it been Jim’s? He blinked hard against an impending dizziness, their bond shattering back through the walls of his mind so intensely, for a moment he was not able to tell their consciousnesses apart. He stared wide eyed at the still form on the ground, unable to feel relief through the sour, neon emotions writhing into his head.

Grief. Fear. Pain.

“Spock? What the devil-”

Through the sudden onslaught of disorientation, he somehow managed to witness Jim resurrect himself. Hazel eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing even as Jim scrambled to his feet, and the first action he took was to lunge at McCoy, savagely taking the hypospray from his hand and throwing it across the room with such force it sent smoke and sparks flying from behind shards of a shattered screen. The sudden burst of their bond had simmered again to an unsteady flow of crackling static, half formed impressions finding their way to him like last season’s leaves through a shallow stream. 

Fear. Aloneness. Panic. 

He stood, approaching Jim without a second thought. The man would not look at him. He was a cornered animal, glinting with sweat, whites of his eyes visible around wild, dark irises.

“Jim.”

When those eyes finally swiveled onto him, they were a stranger’s. 

“Stay away from me,” he hissed, teeth bared, shoulders hunched. 

Their connection stuttered again and disappeared altogether. Spock barely resisted the urge to clutch an arm around his abdomen at the feeling of loss.

“Jim,” he said again weakly, almost to himself.

“I said stay away!”

The Captain looked down as if he hadn’t noticed his own body, scrambling clumsily for his phaser and looking it over until he found the controls. A hand grabbed at Spock’s shoulder from behind.

“Spock. I don't think that’s Jim.”

Spock frowned at the realization that, for once, he did not have the one tool at their disposal which could tell them for sure. The connection of their bond continued to lie dormant. Dark. 

There was a click, and everyone in the room froze. Jim noticed and looked around, leveling the phaser at them. 

“I’ll shoot,” he threatened, and Spock grew colder still at the realization his voice was wavering. The breath released through his nose shook, and moisture gathered unmistakably along his row of lower lashes. Spock couldn’t help but take another step forward and those wild eyes turned onto him again. Jim’s hands around the phaser were shaking so violently, the movement dislodged a hair to curl over his forehead.

“I said I’ll shoot!”

“Spock,” McCoy hissed. In his peripheral vision he could see the doctor’s hands raising slowly in surrender. “I think he means it.”

Spock forced his feet flat to the floor. Blinking slowly, he kept his eyes raised to meet Jim’s. I’m here, he pushed out over the connection, but the sensation of the thought dropping off unheard into space was almost palpable. Jim did not react to him, instead switching his gaze to any number of faces in the room. All strangers to him, just as Spock was now. 

“Where is he?”

The question was asked quietly, as if the answer was feared. Spock’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head.

“Where is who, Jim?”

Hazel eyes blinked owlishly at his name but then hardened again. A full body tremor dislodged a tear from each eye, traversing down the sides of Jim's face and dropping from his jaw to leave wet ovals dotting his chest.

“You know who!” 

Spock raised a brow, outwardly calm. “I do not.”

“Kodos.” 

The name was hissed, pain and fear crumpling Jim’s expression, wilting him. Spock shared a look with McCoy. As Jim watched them, his anger flared again. 

“I said where is-”

The sentence weakened and he was blinking, fingers loosening around the phaser until it nearly slipped from his grasp before he tightened his fist around it again. His weight rolled backward and he took several stumbling steps away. This time, it was McCoy who stepped forward, hand twitching toward his spare hyposprays. Spock remained still, as if any movement may cause him to miss something crucial. Dark eyes stayed trained on Jim as he regained tension in his posture. He used his free hand to prop himself against the red shelf at the perimeter of the bridge, his free hand leveling the phaser with some difficulty.

“I asked where Kodos is,” he said emphatically, pleading at the same time as demanding. His chest heaved as he flicked eyes up to McCoy. “Get- Get away from me with that shit.”

Spock nearly swallowed his own tongue in surprise at the language used. He saw several members of the crew exchange glances. 

McCoy raised both hands again. “Jim, we don’t-”

The hand around the phaser flexed and he jerked it around deliriously. He pulled at the collar of his uniform, sweat now pouring down his face. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit! Tell me where he is!”

Jim’s hand slipped from where it was propping him up and he sank to his knees, chest slamming into the shelf as he did. He bounced back, pulling the phaser into his lap even as his eyes barely remained open, pushing with his heels until he collided with the wall. The doctor seemed content with the risk of approaching him, and although Jim’s body gave an almighty twitch of protest, slack hands appeared too weak to attempt to hold onto the weapon when McCoy slipped it away and sent it scattering along the floor.

“What’s happening to me?” 

Spock could hear the question from where he stood, but only just. It was quiet. Distant. He sounded like… a boy.

“We’re gonna figure that out,” McCoy told him softly before pulling a hypo out of his back pocket. Once again Jim seemed determined to get away but his feet slid for purchase against the carpet unsuccessfully, lips parting as he listed to one side. McCoy grasped one golden shoulder and righted him.

“Please. I’ll be good, I…”

McCoy stuck him in the arm and Jim whimpered, looking absolutely despondent even as the spray began to take effect. McCoy grabbed him by the jaw and turned him so their eyes met.

“We’re here to help you, not hurt you. Now, go to sleep.”

And with that, Jim once again collapsed into nothing. The doctor let him continue his descent until he laid flat on the floor, guiding him onto his back. After a quick scan he looked around the room.

“Well? Who’s gonna help me get him down to sick bay?”

~*~*~*~ to be continued...?

[george-harrisons-last-biscuit]

Rewatching Help instead of sleeping Part 1

Why do we start this movie with human sacrifice and then immediately go into a music video for help?

Also I was just at an Aztec temple for the Sun God and they also did human sacrifices. I was told by the guide that a most of their sacrifices would volunteer.

Where did they get the screen playing the Beatles that they’re throwing darts at? Also I realize I should give visuals so here’s. A shitty photo taken of my laptop and a photo of the temple:

I’m so confused what religion/culture are they trying to imitate here with the human sacrifice ring people.

I love their house and this scene so much. I need an entire movie that’s just the Beatles living in this house. Is this what the show big brother is like? Just 4 houses without walls in between them.

I love how there’s just a random guy in George’s room who cuts his lawn with mechanical teeth and John pulls out his own book to read

How did that woman get into their house and have no one call the cops. Wait is it ever explained how ringo got the ring? Im only 8 minutes in I need to slow my roll.

This is so unapologetically racist beginning to end.

I can really tell they were high out of their fucking mind for the filming of this movie. Also the “Everyone laughs at Ringo’s Sudden Apprehension” reminds me of this scene in Velocipastor:

I remember the first time I watched this movie I had to look up the plot to it because I was so wildly confused.

There at some sort of restaurant with belly dancers and all the chef are being killed. Listen man you can try to kill Ringo without harming the employees.

Oh some fan gave him the ring that’s why.

Why are there so many words appearing in scream explaining what’s happening? I think I could’ve guessed they were going to a ring specialist

There’s so many batshit lines in this. Was this version of Ringo dropped on his head as a child why is he saying he likes to have his head stuck in between railing?

You know the writers were like “the fan girls are gonna love this” when ringo’s pants fell off. 

I love her outfits in this movie but this has to be my favorite so far. I regret being completely sober for this re-watch.

I’m gonna stop commenting on the racism now but holy fuck did this not age well.

Also Paul being tiny and naked on the floor is also a fantastic moment of fan-service that Beatles fans definitely fell for.

I think these scientist are definitely a gay couple. They have a real sort of Dr Honeydew and Beaker vibe to them.

It’s ice time now.

Hearing George call the bomb a “fiendish thingy” is so much more fun knowing that I know about the vomit pet.

Bro almost got Saint Sebastian-ed. Also I feel like arrows through a window is a pretty ineffective way to kill someone like it’s too unpredictable.

Part 2

[bestworstcase]

One thing that I've not been keen on in hindsight, is just how much what you call "pop writing advice" is not that helpful to me. Or how they get used by people in critique.

Because most of them tends to be exceptionally vague borderline nothing bits. Like a series having "good dialogue" or "bad dialogue", and unless it's the most incredibly obvious lowest common denominator kind of thing that anyone who listens could tell is bad dialogue, it's never properly elaborated on.

For example, they describe good dialogue as "witty, subtle, etc" or something else. Like okay, can you tell me what that even constitutes as? Any examples you want to provide? Is witty supposed to be two characters bantering with each other with MCU styled dialogue, or is it something else entirely? Is your definition of good dialogue supposed to just be empty snark that you jingle in front of people like keys while being devoid of any actual value? What is bad dialogue then; something you consider boring or you just not caring for that particular style of writing? Give me context dammit!

Like, maybe my mind just latches onto the weird things, but I'm always left with more questions than answers because of these kinds of advice and critiques, because there's never anything concrete to work with. Just a vague nothingburger that I'm expected to dissect without any clear context as to WHAT I'm supposed to get out of it.

mmmmhm. in general pop writing advice tends to approach stories as a product you intend to sell as widely as possible as opposed to, like, art, and when it's about dialogue or plot structure it often presumes a target audience of indifferently distractible readers/viewers who need to be spoonfed witticisms and action to get them to stick with a story. which is frankly insulting to readers and viewers as well as to writers.

anyway. i don't know if you were trying to fish for this but here's some actual advice, or at least how i think about some things:

dialogue -> what characters do not say is often just as important as what they do. if the character in question is lying or an unreliable narrator or otherwise untrustworthy, what they don't say is more important than what they do. it's almost always worth thinking about what a character might hold back in a conversation, and the things they might circumlocute around, and why. even scrupulously honest people can be forgetful, and nobody can say everything that's on their mind all the time.

dialogue -> is characterization. how a character speaks is one of the single most effective ways to make characters feel distinct from one another; if everyone sounds the same it's much harder for the reader to keep track of who is who. rhythm is everything. you can slow a character's speech down by using fewer contractions and using 'longer' syntax (not necessarily longer words, but longer sounds; 'moment' is a longer word than 'minute' because of the vowel sounds) and longer sentences; or speed it up with the reverse. no contractions at all can make a character sound stilted, overly formal, or very careful depending upon rhythm. try reading dialogue out loud to figure out the natural cadence of the words.

characterization -> i swear by this

plot -> is what happens when the circumstances of the world interact with character choices. 'deus ex machina' (and 'diablus ex machina') are not bad per se; the trick is to prepare the audience ahead of time by subtly establishing the possibility of such an intervention. the term deus ex machina derives from a convention of ancient greek theater, wherein divine intervention was a regular an unremarkable feature. to the audience of these plays, the sudden appearance of a god at the end of the story would not have felt abrupt or random because the gods were intricately intertwined with and present in day-to-day life.

thus, when translating this device into a story for modern audiences, it's important to develop a similar sense of immediacy and presence. deus/diablus ex machina is unexpected (so you don't foreshadow it) but should be explicable (so the audience already knows this kind of thing can happen) and ideally thematically cogent. i find that it's helpful to think of the world itself as a sort of 'character' participating in the plot in the same way the actual characters do.

theme -> think about theme the way visual artists think about color palette and cohesion. theme is what binds the story together into a unified whole. what purpose does a character's arc serve to the greater narrative? how does it rhyme with other parts of the story—or if it doesn't, is there a reason for breaking the pattern? do all the pieces fit together in a coherent way? you don't need to have an Idea or a Statement or a Concept necessarily, though it is helpful to be able to say in very broad terms what a story is "about" thematically, e.g. bitter snow is about liberation. because that gives you something concrete that you can use as a reference when thinking about what a character's arc is about and whether it fits or not.

[mamasplat]

ooooooooo ive been keeping up with the huge thread.. <3333

is the fic smth you actually want to do? id read it 👍

have you got a timeline in mind?

also hows the run going?

im still in the middle of playing y, im almost at the snowy city, check out my squad 💪💪💪💪💪🐺

The true Calem run is coming along great, I only have one spot to fill in my team and I just got through the power plant!

Now regarding actually writing the Kalos vs amour story, I want to, I’d LOVE TO. It’s something younger me wanted so badly to do- however I am not exactly confident in my writing.

I’ve dabbled under a few sites with a lot of different “pen names” if you will, and I’ve never been too fond of my own work. I struggle with coming off as redundant when I use one word too much without realizing till after the fact, but in my defense! I’m entirely self taught with reading and writing so It’s surprising I’m even a little bit literate.

I can’t say I have the confidence to get a beta reader either as that would mean letting someone read my messy work which- yeah that kinda makes my skin crawl. So it could be a great exercise for me! But it would be a big step. I haven’t publicly written anything since 2019 and it was all small fandom stuff.

But I do have a rough list of story beats? Kinda? Ideas really.

Serena leaves for her journey on a whim to see ash, but in the process she neglected to tell anyone other than her mother. Which means Calem would have no clue where she went until he went to Grace. The dialogue “I was starting to worry until I saw you on pokevision” definitely dings around my skull a bit.

He was a member of the summer camp team with Shauna Trevor and Tierno, he was just too shy to talk to Serena again after she up and left without warning, especially seeing her proximity to a guy who is wearing HIS EXACT JACKET

Yeah no I’m making that a thing, the fact him and Ash dress nearly identically is going to freak him out in some way.

When I envision this as animated scenes, I can see him as a faceless character watching from the sidelines. Obscured but noticeable, coming to a head at the end of the episode where there’s a scene between him a Shauna. In a cabin kitchen at camp, It reveals him and Shauna specifically are traveling together. His face still unseen she’d pry at him for information on why he was so distant and why he hid from Serena. He’d dodge the question with an ever brooding “I don’t know” and the silence would linger as whatever midnight snack is being prepared. A camera angle change and turning to face Shauna for the first time during the conversation it ends with a single line. “Who was that guy she was with anyways?”

We would then see him again officially in a later episode with the appearance of Shauna, he and Serena finally reconnect over an awkward apology for her sudden absence. He’s familiar with Serena, his behavior is starkly different around her to anyone else- even Shauna. And while it might not peek anyone else’s concern it would get Bonnie’s gears turning, the kid is perceptive and comes to the conclusion Calem likes Serena, but that also turns into distrust thanks to Calem’s inherent standoffish nature. She would recognize him as “no good”

Also insert plot of Ash being super hyped like “oh yeah! New rival! Let’s go!” And Calem being violently uncomfortable around this hyper short stack who is dressed just like him and traveling with his run away neighbor-

If you couldn’t tell, I’d have no clue how to pov this. A third person pov makes the most sense but with a shift in focus from our main cast to Calem and Shauna- idk-

I’ve put more thought into this as actual anime episodes rather than written pages, so it’s all art stuff in my head and might translate weird to a fanfic

[teine-mallaichte]

hello and welcome to dadwc!! maybe anders and the fantasy angst prompt of "accidentally triggering a magical trap"? uwu

I appear to be torturing Anders tonight... this is very much a part 1 as while writing my brain has come up with a vague plot for what is likely to become along fic once I have time - or perhaps a story through multiple snippets... we'll see Anyway, @dadrunkwriting fic number two - Anders touches something he shouldn't:

Anders treaded cautiously through the labyrinthine corridors of the Black Emporium, a place of ancient enigmas and arcane wonders nestled in the heart of Kirkwall. The air hung heavy with the scent of magic, a heady mixture of incense and the crackling energies that danced within the dimly lit space. Every step he took echoed softly against the walls, as if the very stones whispered secrets to each other in the language of ages past.

His fingers trailed lightly over the cool surface of a peculiar artifact, drawn to its mystical allure. In an instant, a surge of raw magic enveloped him, sending a shiver down his spine as reality itself seemed to warp and twist around him. Momentarily disoriented, Anders stumbled backward, his senses reeling from the sudden onslaught of power.

As the magical haze cleared, Anders found himself in a state of bewildered confusion. He felt neither fully present nor entirely absent, but rather suspended in a liminal state between worlds. His body seemed insubstantial, as if he were made of mist, n that suspended moment between solid and ethereal, Anders's mind raced with panic. The sensation of his body dissipating into mist left him feeling untethered, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Fear gripped him like icy tendrils, constricting his chest and clouding his thoughts with a primal instinct to flee.

After a few torturous seconds he finally managed to push aside his unease, chiding himself for his brief moment of fear. After all, even Xenon wouldn't simply leave anything too dangerous lying about, would he?

But as he watched Hawke pass through him without so much as a flicker of recognition, panic clawed at Anders' chest. He called out to Hawke, his voice trembling with desperation, but it was as if he were shouting into the void.

Frantically, Anders reached out, his hands grasping for something tangible, anything to anchor him to the physical world. But his fingers passed through objects like wisps of smoke, leaving him feeling more isolated and adrift than ever before. Trapped in this spectral prison, he watched helplessly as familiar faces came and went, oblivious to his presence. Hawke, Varric, Merrill—they moved through the shop with their own concerns, their voices distant and muffled, like echoes from another realm.

With each passing moment, Anders' desperation grew, fueled by the gnawing fear of being forgotten, of fading away into nothingness. Memories of his past flooded his mind, unbidden and unwelcome, dragging him back into the depths of despair. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories that threatened to consume him, but they persisted, clawing at his consciousness like hungry specters.

He found himself back in the Circle Tower, confined to a small, dark cell with walls that seemed to close in on him with each passing moment. The weight of isolation bore down on him like a suffocating blanket, crushing his spirit with its relentless grip. Days blurred into nights as Anders languished in his solitary prison, the only company the echoes of his own thoughts bouncing off the cold stone walls.

Meals came and went, pushed through a small flap in the door like offerings to a forgotten deity, the only indication that the outside world still existed beyond his cell. He lost track of time, of days and weeks and months blending together into a seamless tapestry of darkness and despair. All that remained was the silence, the emptiness, the unyielding solitude.

Hawke's voice sounded distant, distorted by the veil that separated them, but it was a lifeline dragging him back to the present. They hadn't forgotten about him, not yet. The realization spurred him on, filling him with a renewed sense of determination.

But as he watched his friends fade from sight, leaving him alone once more, a profound sense of loneliness washed over him like a tidal wave. Surrounded by people, yet utterly alone, Anders could only watch as the world moved on without him, a ghostly observer in a realm of shadows and echoes.

To be continued...

[messedupfan]

The Training

Summary: The team starts to train for their fight against the Scarlet Witch.

A/N: How is everyone doing?? I hope well! Hope you're enjoying this story! I love reading y'alls comments. And omg, those images of Elizabeth for Love and Death have me losing my mind! Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think!

Masterlist | All Chapters | All Stories Taglist

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

Once the excitement of locating Hank and him scolding Wanda and Carol for the way they treated him had died down, they were able to get information from each trip. Carol and Wanda held back and vaguely described their failed attempts to recruit from their list. Intentionally forgetting to mention the moment they abandoned Hank, who was glaring at them the entire time. The only story with detail was how they acquired Thor Odinson. 

He was in the middle of a battle with giants. Wanda and Carol had landed in the middle of the crossfire. Thor was confused by the women that appeared out of thin air, he was certain he had gotten every civilian out of harm's way. Then Carol got right into action and he didn’t care to question much after that. She and Wanda helped the God of Thunder conquer the giants and at the end of it all, they asked him to come with them. He wasn’t one that was suffering from nightmares of the Scarlet Witch, so he wasn’t close to the cause, but he hasn’t experienced teamwork like that in decades. He was more than happy to join the two. If the rest of the group was anything like those two, he had no doubt they would come out on top against one enemy. 

Jean and Simon couldn't even look at each other as Simon says that it was clear they were unsuccessful. You're curious why they had a bad trip but decide to worry about it later. Next was you and Vision. Neither of you knew how to deliver the news about revealing so much of the plan to the Scarlet Witch. 

Vision starts to tell the group about the trip from the beginning as you compare the dream visions of the Scarlet Witch to the real woman you witnessed. She was far more powerful than anyone was prepared for. It left an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach as the foreign panic began to rise through your chest. “Natalia Romanova,” Vision reads the name from his holographic list. He pauses as he looks at you, since he carried most of the presentation you took that as your cue.

Pulling on the collar of your super suit for a sec, you roll your shoulders, and clear your throat and drop both hands behind your back. “The moment we met Natalia Romanova we were a little thrown off about how sudden she appeared since a receptionist informed us that she was in a meeting. We anticipated a bit of a wait. And there was, however, we were unaware of that. The first Natalia that met us was the Scarlet Witch in disguise. So we can add shapeshifting to the list of abilities. And possibly, multiversal travel.”

“How can you be so sure?” Raven asks, straightening in her seat. Up until now, there hadn’t been much to pay attention to. The woman had grown bored of hearing the failures of the mission. But this news could affect everything.  

“You might not understand this but… She had the wimple,” you state to Raven and divert your attention to the rest that are still confused. “In all of your dreams have you ever seen the wimple on her head?” 

Carol raises her hand, “What the fuck is a wimple?”

Vision steps in by projecting the description of the Scarlet Witch and an image of what she should look like in her full form. “As far as we know, only one Wanda has this crown,” he explains, “the one that is after us. Not only individually, but now as a team.” He stops projecting the image. 

“Okay, what does that mean for us?” Jean asks this time, growing a little nervous. 

“It means that the Scarlet Witch knows we’re plotting against her. That she knows how to travel through the multiverse and is no longer limited by the Darkhold. This isn't about dream walking or traveling through reflections and shadows or trying to break through our minds anymore! She has advanced faster than we’re prepared for,” you warn, feeling the panic suffocate your lungs with every sentence. Your wife touches your hand to settle you down but you pull away manically. She shouldn’t be here. She needs to be somewhere safe. She needs to be home with her family. “We only have a matter of days now and the fate of every universe in existence depends on us.” You take another look around the room. “I have to say, I don't know if we have it in us to defeat her. Not as unprepared as we are.”

Your hopeless words only irritate Raven, so she looks to the man beside you to get his thoughts. As she has gotten to know him through working together, she has grown to trust his judgment. He knew this. “Vision, do you feel the same way?” 

The synthezoid looks to Raven, then looks to you, and finally he analyzes everyone else's expectant faces. “She is a force to be reckoned with. I'm certainly not a match for her on my own. None of us are.” His words hit Carol, Jean, Raven, and Simon the most. Since the day they met him, Vision had been confident that anyone of them — especially him — had a chance one on one with the witch. However, after coming out of that fight as the only one affected, his stance on that has changed drastically. He's not even certain they could defeat her together. 

“Good thing none of you are alone then,” Raven says as she rises from her seat to address the room. “We are a team! Would I have preferred more time for us to get ready? Of course. But I have faith that we still have enough time to do that.” She stands with her hands on her hips with an inspiring presence. “I believe we can win this fight as long as we work together. We cannot waste anymore time sitting around and unfortunately, we can’t gather more help. But each of us are resourceful in our own ways. We can make due with what we have. Unlike Y/n here, I believe that we do have it in us to defeat her!” She gives you a side eye that you meet with a scowl. You were only thinking about the safety of your wife and of everyone that you care about back home. “Who by the way can go home if they lack that much faith.”

“Hold on,” Wanda jumps in. “They're scared, okay? We all are, and we should be allowed to express our fears without being chastised for it.” 

“Wanda makes a good point,” says Simon as he points in the brunette's direction. “However, Y/n wasn't expressing fear. They were expressing doubt and we can't have any of that if we're going to come out of this alive. I say we put it to a vote on whether or not we let them stay.” 

“You do realize if I go, so does my wife, dickhead,” you snap at him. 

“Woah, so much hostility,” Simon holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m only thinking in terms of what benefits the team. Wanda can stay because she is useful. She has power and insight. Whereas you, well, other than being eye candy for Phoenix, there isn't much use for you here.” Not having much control over yourself at the moment you jump over the table and tackle Simon in his seat. You're able to get a few punches in before Thor and Wanda pull you off of him. Simon laughs as the cuts you created heal instantly, leaving only a few drops of blood on the surface of his skin as proof you were able to hurt him. 

Thor holds onto you until Wanda tells him to let you go. Once he does, you walk out of the room to get some air. “Real nice Simon,” Jean glares at the man as she steps around him to follow you.

“Jean, need I remind you, that's not your problem,” Simon calls out behind her. She stops at the door and shuts her eyes as she fights the old habit. 

“It's okay, Jean,” Wanda says. “They can barely look at me right now. Besides, I probably won't be able to convince them that the team really does need them here seeing as I wasn't the one that brought them here in the first place.” 

Jean turns and thanks Wanda before continuing on. The woman isn't quite sure where to start looking for you. She just had to trust her instincts which led her to find out that you and Y/n were similar when it came to hiding spots on campus. The first place she looks is where she finds you, standing in the greenhouse. 

“And here I thought you would be a completely different person,” she makes her presence known. 

“Huh, you weren't the person I was expecting,” you mumble as you distract yourself by tending to the plants in front of you. “This place is a mess. What do you people teach your students here?”

“We don't anymore,” Jean answers. “We had a student, she had the ability to connect with all things nature. She was shy and it took her some time to settle in here. Y/n helped her with that. They built this greenhouse for her. Made an after school activity out of it which helped her connect with a few other students and allowed her to learn and develop her abilities.” 

“What happened to her?” You ask, knowing it couldn't have been good based on the state of this place. 

“She ran away after Y/n killed themselves,” she frowns as crushes a dead leaf in her hand. “I was too distraught to search for her. I care about her, but I was lost for months. Charles found her though and when he returned without her, he said that he had faith she would find her way back here eventually.”

“And this place?” You say, keeping this conversation going to avoid talking about anything else.

“The other students were too conflicted to keep up with this place and no one else in the staff cared enough to take on the extra work. I would have, for Y/n, but I couldn't.” Tears spring to her eyes as she remembers that this was the place that she told Y/n that she wanted to build a family with them. The topic had been a tough one between the two. Y/n wasn't sure they believed in marriage and Jean couldn't ever see herself as a mother. At one point neither of them thought they were safe enough to have a child of their own. But watching you be so attentive and caring towards the students made her wonder what it would be like to adopt and raise a kid or two together. It started here, with Y/n on their knees and explaining to the insecure mutant the importance of her abilities, where Jean got the idea to start a life outside of this school. The two had spent most of their life dedicated to the institute that at first the idea of leaving didn’t seem possible. Then once the seed was planted in their heads it kept growing until the idea excited the couple rather than scaring them. She couldn't look at this greenhouse once Y/n passed. It represented everything that was taken from her.

“My school had a greenhouse long before I got there,” you say. “It was bigger than this. A complete mess by the time I got to it. Worse than this place. I was kind of a troublemaker when I was first brought there and the last punishment I ever had was having to keep a place like this clean for a month. Professor Xavier made certain he was the one to keep an eye on me while I worked.” The corner of your mouth lifts up at the memory that felt like another life. “I ended up spending time there everyday until the day I graduated. It was relaxing,” you set the gardening tool in your hand down and look at Jean. The moon was shining through the transparent roofing, it provided enough light for you to see that she had some tears in her eyes. 

A piece of you felt guilty for wanting to comfort her. “It's what led me to Wanda,” you continue. “She was the only friend I had that would help me out with it. Everyone else thought it was weird that I spent a lot of time here. It took me sometime to realize that she did it because she had a crush on me. She still uses it against me sometimes. I saw it as just hanging out with a friend and she saw it as the only time that we could be alone without anyone interrupting and really connect with each other. When I finally caught up with her, I asked her to be my girlfriend at that greenhouse,” you reminisce. Jean wipes some tears and now you feel bad for mentioning it. “Sorry,” you grab another tool and try to find a plant to work on. 

Jean cracks a smile, “What for? I can hear about you falling for your wife without losing my mind. You know that right?” 

“No, I didn’t know that actually,” you bite your bottom lip in thought, “I guess I’ve just been thinking about being in your shoes. I’m not sure I’d be able to hear about how Wanda fell for someone else without completely falling apart.” 

Jean shrugs, “Y/n chose to leave me in quite a permanent way. So I guess–”

“They didn’t choose to leave you, Jean,” you correct. She takes a step closer and you clench your jaw as you try to bring the details of that nightmare to the forefront of your mind. “I didn’t know that’s what you believed but, that’s not what happened. Y/n, they were fighting voices and shadows, the rope that took them was enchanted with a magic so dark they didn’t have a chance against it alone. But they did fight.”

“Do you know if they had any last words or anything?” Jean asks but all you can do is shake your head. You weren’t given that much. What you remember from that dream was fear the most. You originally thought it was an anxiety dream. Who wouldn’t? There were a lot of whispers of unfamiliar voices and dark figures, a noose with glowing shapes at the school you hadn’t visited in years at that point. There weren’t any details beyond that. “They didn’t leave me,” Jean whispers in relief. 

“No, they didn’t,” you confirm. 

“Thank you,” she says. Then she closes her eyes and blinks a couple of times as she remembers why she came here in the first place. “I’m sorry for what Simon said to you. He spent the entire trip trying to convince me to follow some asinine plan to get you to fall for me so that he could have your wife. Which is ridiculous because he tried something like this in his universe and it got him kicked out of the organization there. And I would never–”

“Jean, it’s fine. I know he was just trying to get a rise out of me. I can’t say that I blame him,” you cut her off. “I should have cleared my head better before the meeting. I thought I had, but I don’t know. Seeing the amount of people we have and reliving that mission over and over again so I could explain it to everyone… it got to me. I shouldn’t have let it.”

“It’s understandable,” she puts her hand on your wrist to pull your attention away from the plant. “You saw something that isn’t quite easy to comprehend. I wouldn’t know what I would do if I knew I had to fight against you.” 

“That’s the thing, it’s not just fighting against her, Jean. We have to kill her. Otherwise, this might never end.” You state with a shaky tone. “I have spent so much of my life trying to keep Wanda alive, I don’t know how–”

“If it comes down to that, I will do it,” Jean promises. “Besides, I don’t think I have to remind you that the Scarlet Witch and Wanda are two completely different people. She sent me here because she knew what you needed right now. She put your needs in front of her insecurities. The Scarlet Witch is only thinking of herself and how much power she can acquire.” 

You nod your head as flashes of the mission invade your thoughts again. You have to remind yourself what you’re seeing isn’t someone that you love and know. But an enemy you must defeat. Your breathing quickens as you get trapped in the memory. Your arm stings worse than when it happened and you let out a scream. Jean grabs the part of your arm that is glowing and does her best to siphon the magical poison out of you. As she tries to help, you are shown flashes of images that don't make a lot of sense. You see Wanda and the Scarlet Witch facing each other, then flashes of everyone on the team, bodies of kids on the ground in front of the school, and just as you're about to see something else, Jean successfully removes the acid from your arm ending the connection.

“Thank you,”  you pant out as you look at your slow healing arm. 

“I think this is the real cause of your panic attack,” Jean says as she holds up a jar of the glowing acid. “We need to send this out as soon as possible. Who knows what she has done to it.”

“You’re right,” you clear your throat. “She could be tracking us with it.” You shake your head, “Dammit! I might've put us all in worse danger!” You angrily grab the jar and march out to the main platform for multiversal travel. Not wanting to waste much time, you open a portal to get you there faster. Once you're at the device, you pick a place at random and send the jar there. Hoping it would buy you guys more time. Jean lands beside you just after the jar has disappeared and asks if you're going to be okay. “Yeah,” you nod, “We should get some rest. I'm sure training is going to start early tomorrow. Don't want to be groggy.” You make another portal to get you from the platform to your room where Wanda was already tucked in bed. 

You're not surprised to find her wide awake, waiting for you to return. You smile as you remind yourself of her kindness and her pure heart. “I love you,” you say as you join her on the bed. 

“Aren’t you going to change out of that?” She gestures to your thick and slightly uncomfortable supersuit. You shrug and with a snap of your fingers, it transforms into comfortable pajamas. Wanda laughs as you climb on top of her and pepper her face with kisses. “What has gotten into you all of the sudden?” She squeals. 

“I already told you,” you say as you continue kissing every inch of exposed skin, which wasn’t much room to work with. “I love you!”

Wanda giggles, “I know, but earlier you seemed…” 

You stop abruptly and pull away slightly, “I know, I know. I’m sorry about that I jus–” 

“No, don't tell me,” Wanda places both hands on the sides of your head. “Show me,” she closes her eyes and pulls your head to meet against hers. You take a breath before you think about the mission again for her to see. When it's over Wanda kisses your lips slowly, opening her eyes. Yours remain shut, afraid of what your wife will read from your eyes. “Look at me,” she requests softly. She repeats herself one more time before you open your eyes. Staring into hers brings you such relief, your entire body relaxes. “You know that I'm not her, right?” You nod and she caresses your face with her knuckles and you take her hand to your lips. “I love you too. Now, let's get some sleep. We have a full day tomorrow, we’ll need the rest. At least I will.” You fall off of Wanda and lay on your side. She does the same, facing away from you so that she can lean her back against you as you hold her. The two of you fall fast asleep into a dreamless sleep for once.

Training the most powerful beings in the multiverse is no easy task - in fact, many would say it's impossible. It all gets worse, however, when you add the factor that none of them really know each other - maybe just other versions of themselves, but it's nowhere near the same. So neither knows the limitations and qualities that the others have to offer. So how do you train these people? Well, that's what you are trying to do in the large training hall at Xavier's School for Gifted Children. At least it was, until a bunch of teenagers came through the front door. 

Raven walks to them first, and you, Carol, Jean and Simon follow her soon after. Wanda and Vision were busy with the monitors. Approaching the group, you see that all of them are wearing the Institute's uniform. But unlike your universe's blue and gray outfit, theirs is yellow and blue. You think that this combination makes them look like cartoon characters, but you decide to keep the comment to yourself - especially considering Raven's furious expression. "What are you doing here?"

"We came to help." Says a tall boy with dark blond hair, to which the other teenagers nod and murmur their agreement. 

You and your group exchange apprehensive looks, and you're the first one asking, "How old are you, kid?" You notice they all avoid your gaze, and you wonder if all of them are under the age of eighteen. You don't think that's the case, but you're only confused by their reaction to your question when you remember Jean's reaction upon seeing you. They weren't uncomfortable with your question, they were uncomfortable with you. 

"Enough." It's a girl who answers this time, with dark makeup and white streaks in her auburn hair. You try to remember whether you've seen these people at the Institute before, but nothing comes to mind. You wonder if they just don't exist in your universe or if they joined the school after you left. A hand on your forearm wakes you up from your thoughts, and you look to the side to find Jean inviting you and the rest to a spot farther away from the children to talk in privacy. 

"What are we thinking about this?" The redhead asks with her arms crossed, looking at each of you for opinions. 

The blonde by her side is the first to offer, "They're kids." 

You look at the group by the door again - who is looking back at you with anticipation - and Jean says what's on your mind before you can do so. "Not all of them." 

"Jean-" 

"Not to mention, the Witch will have lackeys." Carol interrupts the shapeshifter, who looks at the Captain as if she was about to rip her head off at any minute now. "What?!" Danvers raises her hands in surrender at the almost growl the other lets out, taking a step back for precaution. "I don't mean it like that-"

"Carol, has a point, honestly." You are the one who interrupts this time, in an attempt to prevent the impending fight between the two women. You find it amusing that Captain Marvel, the most powerful being in her own reality, is so afraid of Raven. But you decide not to comment on it in order to keep talking, "the Witch may have an army we don't know about. Not as strong as her, but certainly enough to keep us busy. Our focus should be on her. Perhaps, with a group of our own, it will be easier to stop her. This will only end when she's out of the picture."

"Is that any way to talk about your wife?" Simon is the first to speak after you're done, his voice harsh and judgmental, and you can't control your own irritated scoff as you turn back to him. 

"She is my wife." You say through gritted teeth, pointing at where Wanda and Vision are debating something about the monitors, but the man doesn't take his eyes off of you. "And while we're on the subject you'd better stay away from her." You poke his chest hard as you're done, making the rest of the group hold their breaths. But Simon only scoffs, a disgusting smirk on his lips that makes your blood boil. 

"Do we have a problem?" 

"Y/n." You only notice your fists are glowing when Carol rests her hand on your shoulder. You take a deep breath to calm your nerves, and soon the purplish energy that covered your entire figure dissipates, the stardust reminiscent of the Infinity Stones - with its microscopic fragments of their specific colors - giving way to your normal human body. Simon watches your glowing eyes return to their normal coloration without blinking, and you need to contain a smirk as you notice, from his clenched jaw, the apprehension he felt. 

"So?" You get back to the main topic as if nothing had happened, pretending not to see the way the rest of the group exchange uneased looks. As you wait for a response, you glance at Wanda on the other side of the room, but you don't let your eyes linger too long as you see the brunette is already looking at you, with her eyebrows furrowed in that way she always does when she's worried. The quiet seconds drag on for a while, but don't make up a full minute before Raven sighs in surrender. 

"Fine. But only those who are over 18," Raven determines, and doesn't let Carol speak as she adds, "end of discussion." The blond mutant then leaves, stomping toward the group of teenagers still waiting by the door. 

"I was just going to say I agree with her, geez," Captain Marvel grumbles as she walks away from the group as well, rolling her eyes as she heads to where the training dummies are. 

You can't help but let out a low laugh, shaking your head lightly before you turn your attention to Jean. "She really cares about them, doesn't she?"

"She does. She always has." The redhead confirms with a sweet smile at the thought of her friend, and you offer her a soft smile as well, tapping her shoulder lightly before heading to where Wanda is - without failing to exchange a glare with Simon, who has his arms crossed in front of his chest as he watches you leave. You hear the two talking about the training ahead of you, but you don't pay much attention to it as you finally join your lovely wife by the monitors. 

"Is everything alright?" She holds your hand as soon as you're close enough to touch, and you frown in confusion as you let your fingers slide in between hers. 

"Yeah, why?" The question makes her smile with amusement, tilting her head towards where Simon and Jean are still talking. 

"You almost jumped on that guy's neck." The observation makes you look away, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you grumble. 

"It was not a big deal, don't worry about it."

"You know, I don't need to read your mind to know when you're jealous." She points out right away, and you see her smirk is as teasing as her tone when you look up at her again. You don't answer, however, mumbling something the brunette can't understand as you avert your gaze once more, and Wanda can't help but find it all endearing. "I'm yours, you know?" She tugs on your entwined hands for you to look back at her, casting you a loving smile when you do so. 

"You better tell him that." You hit back with annoyance, but you're not really bothered anymore - not when she's so close to you, her mere presence providing you with all the serenity you need. Your comment makes the brunette giggle heartily, amusement written in every one of her features. 

"Oh, I will." You barely have time to frown in confusion at her answer before she pulls you closer, her hand on your neck to bring your mouth to hers. 

You smile against the kiss as you match it, all your muscles relaxing as she slides her tongue on yours, letting go of your hand to take both of hers to your hair, playing with it in her fingertips. You take advantage of your empty hands to hold her around the waist, wrapping your arms around her so her body is pressed flush against yours, enjoying the warmth she provides you, the feel of the-

"Alright, lovebirds, let's get to work." Carol breaks the moment completely as she throws a styrofoam ball at your back. You and Wanda break the kiss with amused laughs, and you turn your back on your wife just to glare at the blonde woman who had just attacked you. Danvers, however, fakes an innocent expression, and you only laugh some more as you shake your head, entertained.

Thor stumbles into the training hall with a strange jug that you're assuming came with him from Asgard. “I thought we could use more soldiers,” he slurs. Everyone exchanges confused glances. “So I grabbed your travel thingy and went home to grab a few friends,” he grins as an Asgardian army charge into the training center behind him. Every single one of them were about as drunk and as massive as Thor is. Raven, who was standing by her students, looks at the large group across the room then smirks at Carol, Jean, Simon, and you before turning back to the young mutants and sending them back home with Jean's help. 

“Well, she got her way,” Carol says, a little impressed. 

“To be fair, you did have a point about numbers over strength. We should have prioritized a large army of people willing to fight after we failed with getting more people like us.” You throw an energy orb at the moving target in front of you. The simulation strikes back and knocks you on your ass. “Dammit!” You groan as you stand up. 

“Hmm, maybe Simon was right about you,” Carol teases. 

You don't entertain a comment as you restart the program. You've been out of the game for a while. You couldn't even guess how many years it's been since the last time you've trained. But, you didn't mind this new challenge. Everything in your life with Wanda has been too easy. Not that either of you minded, after almost losing each other and everything you've built together, it was nice to have it easy. But without challenge, life can get a little stale and it’s hard to realize what it is that is missing. Working through each training station wakes you up as you realize, this mission alone might be your true purpose in life. Looking over at Wanda as she laughs at something Jean says, you feel a little guilty. With the thought crossing your mind that this mission might just be the last you ever complete and not because you’ll be returning to your retirement. Despite what you promised your wife. 

Over the course of the next couple days, everyone works hard on strategies and executing each and everyone of them in a hyper realistic simulation. Fighting against a fake Scarlet Witch that is equipped with every ability that they know of. Even with just those she was nearly impossible to beat. Only one practice had the outcome of Wanda surviving. But she was the only person to survive. It wasn’t everyone’s preferred outcome. Although it was one that you and Simon could agree on. It was the only thing the two of you could agree on. 

The two of you were still butting heads on every little thing. If he wanted someone to go left you made a compelling argument as to why they had to go right. If you wanted someone to be in the air, he wanted them on the ground. It got to the point that neither of you were allowed to provide ideas anymore. But as the team ran through each strategy that Raven, Carol, and Vision came up with, there were enough clear errors that you and Simon just had to fix. It wasn't until the two of you stepped aside and settled on a few solutions together to present to the rest of the team that they let the pair of you speak again. 

Several more practice runs and the amount of victories surpassed the amount of losses. The team began to feel safer and grow more confident in each other and themselves. There was still some looming anxiety over the unpredictability of the actual Scarlet Witch. No one knew for certain the extent of the damage she was capable of. But there wasn’t anything to be done other than to hope for the best. 

Once the last run ends horribly, Thor looks around at the tired faces of his team and an idea pops into his head. “You know what we need?” Some turn to him, others are too exhausted. “A party!” He cheers and everyone exchanges glances with each other. Not quite sure if they are up to breaking for a party when they don’t feel like celebrating. “Come on, it’s been days since you guys ran in with this witch. She hasn’t arrived. We still have time to figure all of this out. We need this.” 

Carol is the first one of the group to speak up, “He’s right. Couldn’t be bad to party for the night.” She nudges Raven, who has sort of become the unofficial leader, and nods to the rest of you. 

Raven looks around then to Carol's pleading eyes and sighs, “Yeah. I think we could use the moral boost.” 

Thor claps his hands, “It’s settled then! Tonight, we party like Gods!” He raises Mjölnir in the air as he makes his declaration. His voice booms in the simulation room and his excited energy has a positive effect on everyone as they separate to get cleaned up and rest before the impromptu event.

The Last Supper

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[andreal831]

If you were to rewrite Jackson, would you still implement the love triangle? If so, would you make it more of an unrequited love or would you truly explore Jayley? If not, what type of role would you have him play?

TGW outtake suggestion:

In chapter 30 (I think) it mentioned Elijah never called Hayley for her birthday, and knowing Elijah, he’d probably feel guilty about this. So I’m thinking this could start from the dinner Hayley, Elijah, and astra we’re having together and at the end of the dinner, Elijah pulls astra aside and tells her that he wants to plan this whole day out as a surprise to celebrate her birthday. Then the next day could be them doing all sorts of activities and Elijah giving her some sort of expensive gift or something.

That explanation sucked, basically just Elijah plans a day to celebrate Hayley’s birthday because he feels guilty that he missed it.

If I was the writer from the beginning, I would have gotten rid of any love triangles. I've said it before, I don't like them. They are unnecessarily messy. Especially in a show like TO where the plot is so heavy. It worked better in TVD because the show centered more around the relationships. Most of the enemies were part of the romantic drama. But TO was focused on family and the enemies were typically after power or revenge. There wasn't time for messy relationship drama. I would have preferred for the show to have established relationships that could have been partners/supported each other throughout the show.

I've loved Nathan Parsons since before TO even existed so I was so excited to see him in TO. Fun fact, he was one of my first male crushes. I was then super disappointed to see his character be so underutilized and underdeveloped. I would have introduced him as alpha of the pack without the arranged marriage. I know many cultures have arranged marriages and that is great as long as everyone wants it. Hayley was not comfortable with it and said it multiple times. I hated that the show just kept going down that path and introduced the arranged marriage again in season 2 just under a different name, the "unification." If I was in charge, the women would have much more autonomy in the show.

I would have kept the warring family idea and even had Jackson be warry of Hayley's sudden appearance. This girl who is supposedly the long-lost "princess" of the pack shows up, pregnant by their enemies, and living with the Mikaelsons. Hayley would have had to earn his respect as well as the packs, but once she did, he would teach her the pack's history. I would also make him a better alpha. I don't think I would make him more politically minded because I would have played more into the fact that he has spent his entire adult life as a wolf because of the curse. He would have leaned on Hayley who naturally seemed to know how to make allies with the other factions. Instead of a marriage to fix the rift in the pack, Jackson and Hayley would have created a bond based on mutual respect and love for the pack. They would have introduced the idea of co-alphas without needing it to be romantic or sexual.

I hate when shows can't allow opposite gender individuals to just work together without it being romantic or sexual. I love a good friendship. That is one of my biggest complaints about TVDU. It created such great friendships but instead of developing them, it focused on the romantic drama. The friendships/found families in New Orleans were what was going to save it from war. You have Marcel and Davina, Vincent and Cami, Cami and Marcel, Vincent and Freya, etc. These bonds that transcended the factions was what saved them over and over. But the wolves are left out of that since, after Jackson died Hayley basically forgot about the pack. They could have done it with Eve, but she died to early. It would have been nice to see Jackson forming those bonds with the other factions, starting with Hayley.

I wouldn't do an unrequited love storyline. These always just make me sad. I know it happens in real life but that's why I love fiction, I don't need to add any unnecessary pain that way (I know that's ironic coming from me). If I did explore Jayley, I would have actually shown them developing feelings for each other. Show Hayley being torn between her feelings. And then shown that even if you love someone and try to make it work, for various reasons, it may not. This doesn't mean it was bad or one of the partners was "evil." In real life, relationships don't work out, it doesn't make the relationship any less important or impactful.

I truly do think Jackson deserved better from the writers. This is why *spoilers for my story, The Great War* I had jayley end the way they did. It was on Jackson's terms. I know some people thought it was out of character, and maybe it was for the show, but that's the point. Jackson is supposed to be a strong leader, yet he couldn't stand up for himself in the show. He gave Hayley ultimatums instead of setting boundaries and then just left when it got hard. They needed to have a real conversation. So in my story, when they did have this real conversation, they realized they were never going to get what they wanted out of the relationship. Jackson deserved to be able to set his boundaries and get away from the Mikaelsons. He deserved to have a love that isn't forced or manipulated. It's why I didn't kill him. I hated that so many characters were sacrificed just to push certain ships or push the Mikaelson story forward (RIP Gia).

I have already written an outtake for chapter 30 but I do love this idea. And y'all know I love writing haylijah. I'm not sure when I'll get it done but I will definitely write this!

Thanks for the ask and the suggestion!

[starliteradio]

Sparktober bingo prompt: first kiss. Somehow what was supposed to be a fluffy <1000 word snippet morphed into something longer with angst 🙃 (with a hopeful ending). Also, my personal rules are to finish a piece in one sitting with minimal editing, and just flow with my stream of consciousness so if these seem a bit meandering, that’s why. Trying to keep it as relaxed as possible!

Credit to @thecalvarys (Quibilah on ao3) who wrote a great set of lines that subconsciously inspired the last part of this.

*

Summertime, and the living’s easy ~ or so it seems, sitting in the sand and watching the last vestiges of light over calm waters. John squints his eyes against the sun, takes a sip of something deep burgundy, a gin-like spice within the elderberry flavor. He’s not entirely convinced the drink lacks mind-altering properties.

Be cautious accepting drinks on foreign planets, Teyla had warned him. Even amongst friends. Which is the case on this fine evening, here on a planet with a name he can’t ever pronounce – old friends among the Athosians thankfully lacking in nuclear weapons and conniving plots, and abundant in food and wine. But refreshments safely imbibed by the Pegasus galaxy denizens may not be so benign those hailing from Earth, so he must be cautious.

He's been cautious, so far. Just a few sips of this pungent juice and sure, he’s feeling a bit more blissed-out than normal but…hell, after everything they’ve been through…

“Have you tried the fire wine?” He whips his head towards the sudden voice, yet the movement feels like it's in slow motion. Dr. Weir swims before him, a wooden cup in hand.

“Just this.” He raises his cup an inch in turn. “Some…berry drink.”

She sits beside him on the sand blasted log in a blur of seafoam green. She’s wearing a sleeveless shirt he’s seen before, that beautiful calming shade of seafoam and it’s just a casual shirt but he’s so used to seeing her in a damn uniform all the time, and this is different and fun and low-cut enough to stoke his imagination…

He blinks, averts his eyes hopefully not too quickly and takes a nervous sip of elderberry. He shouldn’t be feeling nervous. He focuses on the water, tries to let the drink pull him under into a haze once again.

This is weird though, her sitting here, after being pissed with him for a solid week - upset after another foolhardy stunt he’d pulled to protect them all after a Wraith encounter on another planet. But it’d worked, right? He’d got his team out, he’d come out (relatively) unscathed aside from staring death in the face again for a harrowing moment, and yet she’s been upset…

But she seems to have forgotten that now, sitting next to him on this beautiful night, under a canopy that makes him think of the Earth during the Cretaceous Period, all palms and primitive cedar-like conifers.

“…this fire wine,” she’s saying, her words soft and the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. “It’s a ceremonial drink for the Athosians, religious rituals and weddings and such. It seems the Chamaenerions have adopted it as well, and have their own variation. You know fire is sacred to the Athosians…?”

He’s trying to hang on to every word, but is just…too distracted, she seems so alive and happy, her eyes shining even in the fading light instead of appearing shadowed.

His stomach suddenly pangs, and it feels so wrong in that moment.

“…John?” Her voice seems miles away.

“I um…” He can’t focus, mind swimming and flickering weirdly. “Sorry. I’m sorry about…you know.”

Her expression sobers, and he’s mentally kicking himself…why the hell are you apologizing now? Where did that even come from…?

“It’s okay,” she says shortly, but there’s a knowing, almost tender look in her expression. “Let’s just…enjoy the night, okay?”

He nods, watching her face blur before him. He won’t throw himself into the fire again, can’t imagine even considering it with her looking at him the way she is now…and he suddenly becomes aware of their hands resting upon the log, how close they’d inadvertently placed them.

He draws a sharp breath.

“Elizabeth!” Teyla’s voice cuts through the night, and the noise of the world suddenly flows in again. “Come…we’re lighting the bonfires…and you too, John…”

He’s not even sure he’ll be steady on his feet, but with Elizabeth’s help, he makes it.

*

When all is done and if this expedition ever becomes declassified, these are the moments that won’t ever make it into the inevitable documentaries, John figures.

Exploring planets and fighting Wraith makes for some gripping drama, but will anyone ever know of the liminal moments marking the majority of their time? Lunches and meetings and moments just waiting and prepping for the next adventure, sometimes waiting in anxiety for what might hail upon them from the skies. Small, fleeting moments to be sure…but added up, over time, enough to be significant.

Every morning, his new ritual of arriving at her office with their sad excuse for coffee, which becomes weaker with each passing day as they try to stretch their dwindling resources. Coffee morphing to Athosian tea, or lemon in hot water on a particularly unlucky day....but still he’ll arrive at 0600, and they’ll sit and debrief, or sometimes just chat, and she laughs at his jokes sometimes and it gives him that floaty feeling like on that Chamaenerion island with the elderberry wine.

It's a good feeling, but it makes him nervous, makes him near panic sometimes.

Still, he continues the ritual, and finds himself finding other ways to catch a few minutes in her company, even more so as the days pass in growing shadow.

*

They narrowly escape with their lives. Except the many who aren’t so lucky, Ford among them.

Elizabeth barely talks afterwards. And she has a haunted look in her eye, her “thank yous” tense the two times he offers her tea, before he figures it would be better to leave her be for a while.

Again, he doesn’t get it…they were out of options. He had to do it.

But as he imagines the look in her eyes, a faint voice seems to arise within, questioning his conviction.

Frustrated, he shoves away the bedsheets and stalks into the halls. He has no idea what time it is – could be midnight, could be 0300 for all he cares.

His breath catches as he passes through the balcony doors and finds her overlooking the ocean. Though all his senses scream for him to turn right around, he’s drawn inexorably forward.

They stand carefully apart, wordless for the longest three minutes of his life though his mind spins frantically.

“If you’re still upset about me going out there…” he starts quite suddenly, surprising himself, but the words falter just as quickly as she faces him, her expression rather blank.

The silence stretches.

“Why?” she finally asks, soft anger lacing her voice though it's barely audible over the waves. The hard line of her move wavers for just a moment. “Why is it so easy for you to just throw your life away? Is that all you think you’re worth – just some kind of - shield?”

“Elizabeth…there was no other way.” His voice is hard now, his eyes hard upon hers…he knows it, he knows she damn well knows it but won’t accept it, for some reason. One moment she was hugging him in the gate room in fierce relief, and he was some sort of hero in everyone’s eyes. But now, she's upset.

But he can't shake the remorse pooling in the pit of his stomach, the unease he feels realizing that she cares so much.

She shakes her head nearly imperceptibly, mouth thinning. “There’s always another way.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but falters again, now noticing how her eyes shine in the soft golden light. She impatiently swipes at the tears she can’t hold back, cursing under her breath and turning to determinedly face the ocean.

“Elizabeth…” He feels near sick with guilt now, but approaches her, tentatively resting a hand on the back of her shoulder.

He doesn’t know how it happens, both faster than he realizes and so slowly, but she’s In his arms and he’s enveloping her completely, as though to hide her forever from this galaxy and all its horrors. Tears streaming silently down both their faces, neither given to overt displays of emotion but all the anguish of the past weeks finally pouring from them in that moment, released to the wind and sea.

And she’s clinging him back, and she’s looking up with pooling shadowed eyes and his mind’s swimming like on that island…and without thinking, he’s drawing her closer.

And they’re kissing in the shadows of the balcony, late on that night soon after cheating death, and suddenly he’s never felt so alive.

When they break apart, he’s trembling slightly, and he doesn’t fully let go. He can’t.

He doesn’t know what just happened, and after a minute, can’t quite sit comfortably with it, not when he feels like he’s floating on air.

“Want some tea?” It slips out, so terribly mundane, and he cringes.

But her mouth quirks with the ghost of a smile, her eyes soft when she turns to him. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Heart thudding, he follows her back through the door, acutely aware that things will never be quite the same.

*

[brick-a-doodle-do]

2022 secret santa !!

@mcyt-gt-events

hello hello! i loved this prompt, it was fun to experiment with characters i don’t write often :D @potion-anon, i am your secret santa! my prompt was: sam and dream get into a heated snowball fight, which ends in hot cocoa and bitter stares, which i did execute! but with a tiiiny bit of a twist :]

also unrelated but i find it so funny that a little less than an hour ago i was complaining about not finding a good plot and now the entire thing is finished,,,,,

too good to be true 

words: 1498

tw/cw: angst, mention of/description of pain, disassociating(?) (derealization? idk the term sdjhsdnf), swearing

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Dream often recalls his admiration for winter. Such high spirits came from a cold, bitter season, and he had to admit that he was a bit jealous. When he would be “evil”, or “a bully”, there was no family bonding or laughter to follow it, just hatred, and melancholy. And once he realized he couldn’t be winter, he couldn’t drag the winter sparkle with him, he was just a step too far ahead, and he’d already gone off the cliff and looked down. 

And now, Dream sits and rots.

But he still likes to remember, but most importantly, he likes to imagine. He thinks of twinkling lights and freshly laid snow. Dream leans against the obsidian wall and closes his eyes, drifting into a sleep where his body falls asleep indefinitely, but his mind stays awake and aware of his false hopes of reality.

He thinks of walking along the Prime Path with Sam, because Sam is the only face he can remember at this point. Even the face of his clock was just a jumbled pile of shapes and lines.

The prisoner imagines the frosty stench of the weather. Everything around him is numb, decidedly a nice numb.

His netherite boots crunch the ground under him. Sam is walking next to him, and his boots are also leaving footprints, but much smaller ones. Compared to Dream, Sam was barely up to his knee. He found himself walking slowly along the path, just so he could give Sam the comfort of being next to someone. With winter came danger, and Dream knows that if he were to be left alone at a human size, he would be all but unaware.

But, it appears that he’d let himself step too far in front of the human, and he was being teasingly punished for it. He let out a soft gasp at the sudden brief pressure he felt against his leg. He paused his walk and turned to look his friend in the eyes. They stared at each other, both having a daring sense of mischief undertone in their expressions. Small smirks grew, and before Dream knew it, Sam was pulling another snowball from his inventory. It appeared in his hand suddenly, and Sam laughed as he sent the ball his way.

“Sam!” Dream exclaimed, a surprised laugh leaving him. He scrambled out of the way just barely as another snowball was tossed. Sam looked in his direction, already having a piling supply of snowballs next to him. Dream took one moment of silence and let his size be of service. He ran along the path, the wind hitting him with that ever-so-pleasing burn. He looked back to see where Sam stood—and yep, as he suspected, Sam is making his way towards the mini-giant at a surprising pace—then opened his inventory as he did to see if he had anything to fight back with. Eyes moving away from the worst of his options, his weapons, he found himself settling on a stack of snowballs he didn’t even know he had. He took them, closing his inventory and turning around so he could pelt one at Sam. The human was far behind, running after him with painfully small legs compared to Dream’s. He was suppressed a wheeze as the snow exploded as it collided with Sam, nearly making him fall back. The human’s small face glared up at him, and Dream tossed another one his way, just to keep any string of curses or any kind of hatred in Sam’s mind only. 

He hummed, watching with amusement as Sam struggled to get snow off of his coat. Then, they both tossed a ball at each other, to which they hit each other mid-air and promptly exploded. In similar fashion to the snow, they broke into a fit of laughter and forgot about their “battle”. 

And once they did, it was curses and complaints from there. Sam seemed to have an unfair upper hand, and Dream couldn't tell why. Maybe it was because he was hesitant to throw his strength at a human. But, at the same time, Dream wondered if he should really care about Sam’s well-being in this little fight. So he took a moment to not, and instead threw a snowball as hard as he could right at Sam, who, this infuriated Dream, stepped out of the way like he’d been expecting it. Sam tossed a snowball towards him, and he also missed. They narrowed their eyes on each other.

Smiling, Dream threw a ball and leapt from the Prime Path and ran into the forest, pulling up his inventory again to see if he had another stack. Shit, he’s out. Panicked, he looked to the ground. Sure, he could collect some here, that’s not a problem. It’s not as if—a snowball hit his eye. He blinked, feeling the cold flakes melt against his eyes and seep into his socket. He blinked again, then many more times. Quietly, subtly, Dream swallowed and swiped a large indent out of the snow. He formed it, watching Sam’s human self shift anxiously from side to side. He raised his hand, his new snowball fitted nicely in his grip. “I’m out, Sam, give me more or I’m throwing this at you. And I just want to say don’t get all cocky and think I’m bluffing,” he threatened slowly, feeling the snow grow uncomfortable against his fingertips. 

“I’m out too, Dream,” Sam said. Dream shook his head, he could feel the man was lying. He wasn’t good at it.

“No you’re not, don’t lie to me, Sam.” 

There was a certain calmness and hilarity that laid low in their conversation that made Dream’s heart warm. It pleased him to know that there was still someone on this server that could be friendly with him and not want him really dead or out of power.

“I am! We’re still cool, I wouldn’t lie to you!”

Dream exhaled, a puff of white air leaving his lips. He raised his hand higher, raising his eyebrow to put emphasis on the fact that he was not in fact joking and would be perfectly willing to kill him with this particularly large snowball. Well, it wouldn’t kill him, but it’d weaken him enough so Sam would surrender and call Dream the rightful winner of this small battle.

“Okay! Okay.” 

He smiled and nodded, setting down the snowball next to him, just in case. He watched with curious eyes as Sam messed around in his inventory. Individually, Sam set each one down beside him before a total of sixteen were out of his inventory—speaking in snowballs, a complete stack.

With one hand held out flat and the other placed securely over his mini-giant-sized snowball, he watched Sam reluctantly toss the spheres into his palm, careful to avoid his actual hand. Dream really hoped that Sam would make a mistake and get just a bit too close, and luckily for him, he did. He found himself tangled up right in his trap.

As Sam placed the third-to-last snowball in the pile at a much slower pace than before and accidentally touched Dream’s middle finger in the process, he seized his opportunity and placed his thumb over both of Sam’s hands. The green-haired man stared up at him, eyes filled in amused betrayal, and struggled. “Dream! We had a deal, you can’t—” Dream cut him off by pulling the rest of his body off of the ground and into air, to which Sam replied by flailing his body. Dream put his other hand under Sam and let him drop into his palm. He cupped his hands together and stood from where he’d been kneeling in the snow. The boy looked overgrown in his hands, but it was still too high a drop considering his health, and definitely a terrible idea to try and escape Dream’s grasp. So he sat there, and glared at his mini-giant friend, who smirked, incredibly proud of himself. Once again, the hunter becomes the hunted.

In the end, they’d embraced the winter by celebrating in a true fashion. After Sam had regretfully admitted his defeat and his coldness, he relaxed on Dream’s shoulder as they maneuvered around the SMP to find Dream’s temporary base—a small cabin he’d made in the woods for emergency occasions. Sam slid off of his shoulder and took a seat at the edge of the counter, where Dream was stirring the chocolate powder he’d made in with the boiling water. He slid one of the cups, the significantly smaller one, to Sam.

And when the prisoner found himself startling awake once more, memories of burning, refreshing snow and chocolate drinks circling the front of his mind, and he saw himself staring at the same man he’d been friends with in another world—his mind, he looked down to The Warden, who was holding a cup of water and a lousy piece of bread. Sam shared the look.

They glared at each other with bitter stares.

───────────────────────────────────────────

[meraki24601]

Non-stop

Despite searching for Villain for nearly 3 months, Hero didn’t feel relieved when they finally found their enemy. 

Sidekick, Mentor, and Medic cheered when the team got the go-ahead to start the mission. Maybe if Hero had slept in the past two days, they would have been more excited. They- they just didn’t have the energy. Every ounce they had left had been dedicated to finding Villain and putting an end to their plotting. 

They had worked almost non-stop. Every day Hero wasted, failing to do the one thing they had been asked to do, lives had been lost. Hero couldn’t afford to take a break. The others tried to convince them to sleep. Made promises of the most delicious foods Hero could imagine. It wasn’t worth the loss. Besides, Hero was eating. They would have died if they didn’t eat anything. A couple health bars, a water bottle, and gummy vitamins were plenty to keep them alive until they could earn more.

No, when Villain’s whereabouts were confirmed, they weren’t relieved since the job wasn’t done. Villain was still free. People were still dying. 

Their team cheered and danced while Hero collapsed into a chair at the table. Hero allowed themselves two minutes to rest, then grabbed the nearest notepad and started to work. 

“Hero, what are you doing?” Sidekick asked, pulling the pen from Hero’s hand.

“I’m working, Sidekick. We haven’t saved anyone yet.” Instead of fighting their friend over the writing utensil, Hero simply leaned forward to grab another one. The distance seemed to stretch uncomfortably far and, for a moment, Hero thought they were going to fall. 

Sidekick’s arm appeared through the darkness Hero hadn’t noticed approaching. Hero’s entire body rebelled against them, flinching away as Sidekick touched them. That was something they hadn’t done in years. Sidekick looked ready to argue, but Hero beat them to it. “I won’t stop until Villain has been captured or killed. I refuse to sleep away my time while others are suffering and dying.”

With a small sigh, Mentor snatched the pen from Sidekick. “This is not going to be an easy fight. We have no way of knowing how many men Villain will have guarding them. We need to plan for the possibility that one of us will be hurt.”

Hero grunted, taking sloppy notes, “That is a possibility. We can, we can do it with just two. Medic should stay back to act as a liaison with Ally. We can’t risk waiting for tomorrow. Villain could disappear again with ease. Ally won’t be able to gather together backup in time. If… If Medic stays back they can coordinate with them and help any injured Civilians we may find. Should anyone be injured, they can fall back to Medic and safety.”

“You need to rest, Hero.” Sidekick grabbed the back of Hero’s seat. Their eyes are furious, but Hero can barely focus on them as their world spins from the quick motion. “Villain has no idea we found them. If we rush this, we’ll give away our advantage, and Villain will get away. You need to sleep.”

“We will strike tonight. I will not rest until Villain is stopped and everyone they took is saved. Are you with me or against me?” Hero’s mind is clear as they look at each of their friends. 

“We’re with you, Hero.” Mentor whispers. Sidekick turned to Mentor with a cry of surprise, but Mentor waved them down. “We will help you stop Villain, but no one is leaving until we’ve all eaten. Don’t worry, we can make our plans while we eat, so no time is wasted.”

Hero hesitates. It’s not a bad idea. The sudden food may make them too heavy to fight. What if it ended up being too much? Hero won’t lose because they got greedy.

“Medic, do you think you could get some soup for everyone? Make sure Hero’s is light but filling. We need to make sure we do what is necessary to win this battle. It won’t be easy, especially with how few of us will be participating in the attack.”

Mentor’s back was turned to Hero, so they couldn’t see the look on their face as they spoke to Medic, but something must have reached them as they did as asked without question. As Medic prepared the food, Hero, Mentor, and, with a little convincing, Sidekick began to work on the plan. 

Even Hero could acknowledge it was a long shot. Ally was contacted, and they promised to send 20 men with them to start the attack. It would be all they could gather in time to start the attack, but if Hero and their team could survive 30 minutes to an hour, more would come. 

“I’ve got the food!” Medic called, entering the room with a large tray. “I hope ravioli is alright. Oh, Hero, I brought you some chicken soup. It’s not much, but I know you don’t care for ravioli. Think you can catch me up on the plan while you eat?”

“Good plan, Medic. Hero, can I borrow your notepad while you fill them in? I have a few ideas I would like to write out.” Mentor took the pad before Hero could protest, and their hands were filled with the food Medic brought.

The bowl was deliciously warm in Hero’s cold hands. They wanted to protest. They hadn’t earned a warm meal yet. It– it smelled so good. Medic did need to be caught up on the plans. Especially since Ally was no longer in contact with them to make preparations. Any decisions they made from here on out were to be communicated by Medic. Plus, without their notebook in their hands, well, Hero really had no valid reason to refuse the meal. Especially since it was such a meager portion. Their stomach wouldn’t be full at someone else’s expense. 

As the food disappeared from their bowl, Hero almost forgot to speak. The plan was simple. Mentor would lead 15 of Ally’s men to take out Villain’s guard. Sidekick would search for the civilians with the other 5 men and get them out of harm’s way as quickly as possible. Medic would maintain communication and help the injured. Hero would go straight for Villain. 

Having finished their meal, Hero took their notepad back from Mentor. They were only slightly surprised to see Mentor hadn’t written anything down. Maybe it was because Hero’s own thoughts had stretched haphazardly across the page. Even as they looked, their words seemed to lift and move around on the page. 

Actually, it wasn’t just the words in the book that were spinning. The whole world had started to spin again. Their body felt surprisingly heavy as Hero turned to a new page. It felt wrong. It didn’t matter. It was time to begin. Ally’s men were set to meet them at the rendezvous point. All they had to do was stand up and go. 

Hero collapsed.

“I’m sorry, Hero,” Medic whispered into Hero’s ear. They had stayed so close to Hero since they had brought back food, it hadn’t been hard for them to catch Hero. “You’re sick. You can trust the mission to us. Everything is going to be alright.” 

“What,” Hero groaned into Medic’s shoulder, “what did you do? Did you do to m-me?”

Mentor took Hero from Medic. They laid them out on the table as they spoke, “Just rest. It’s a good plan, if a little rushed. As you planned it can be carried out by two of us. Stay here with Medic. Please, don’t fight them.”

“Don’t… Don’t do this. Please. I need, I need to fight. Save them.” Hero’s world had already gone dark. The only tie they had left was the feeling of hands slipping under them, most likely moving them to the medbay. Still, Hero couldn’t rest. They couldn’t sleep. They couldn’t move. They couldn’t see.

Hero could still hear. They heard Sidekick’s voice laughing. “You really stayed awake through everything.”

A hand pushed back Hero’s hair, “The mission is over, Hero. Villain was captured and the civilians were saved. No casualties. Please, sleep now.”

This time, Hero listened.