#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.

[1chaerry]

Hello dear Chae, please could you write a (platonic) Kim Dokja x male!reader, the reader is a constellation and Secretive Plotter's husband, I hope I don't you mind , take care of yourself 🤍

hii!!! I love anything to do with ORV!! Okay, so this fueling my ORV obsession more. hope you like it!!

A Plot-Twist In The Stars

summary: a sudden sub-scenario appears for Kim Dokja and for some reason, all the Constellations seem excited for it. Kim Dokja skeptically accepts it.

c.w: fluff, fluff, FLUFF, a bit of plot [come on, it's ORV], sub-scenario, platonic love,

w.c: 2.7k

disclaimer: Reader is called 'Saram' meaning 'Human/Person.'

Kim Dokja had long since learned to distrust the Star Stream’s attempts at “entertainment.” So when the system announced a new sub-scenario with a flourish, complete with a suspicious lack of immediate death flags, he instinctively frowned

[A SUB-SCENARIO HAS BEEN TRIGGERED!]

Objective: Accompany [The Secretive Plotter’s Husband] for one (1) day.

Reward: ???

The chat room exploded with excitement.

⎡ Constellation Prisoner of the Golden Headband is rolling on the ground laughing. ⎤

⎡ Constellation Bald General of Justice eagerly leans forward, wondering how this will play out. ⎤

⎡ Constellation Demon-like Judge of Fire clicks her tongue, muttering something about romantic plots. ⎤

Kim Dokja's brow twitched. “Why do I feel like this is going to be humiliating?”

��What's wrong?” Yoo Joonghyuk said gruffly, arms crossed as he eyed the notification on Dokja’s screen.

“No,” Kim Dokja replied flatly. “Something about this feels deeply wrong.”

Before Yoo Joonghyuk could retort, the world around them shimmered, and Kim Dokja found himself somewhere else entirely.

The setting was surreal: a cozy, starlit garden with soft cushions and a low table laden with snacks. Across from him sat a man—tall, elegant, and exuding an aura of mischief. His eyes glittered with a sharp intelligence that made Kim Dokja’s survival instincts scream.

“Ah, so you’re the famous Kim Dokja,” the man said, resting his chin on one hand. “My husband speaks of you often.”

Kim Dokja’s brain short-circuited. “Your… husband?”

The man smiled. “I am [Halo of the Golden Sea], the Secretive Plotter’s beloved, or, Saram, if the moniker is too long. Don't worry, it's a false name, won't cause you probability.”

Kim Dokja stared. “The Secretive Plotter… has a husband?”

⎡ The Constellation Secretive Plotter coughs awkwardly. ⎤

The man—no, the Constellation—leaned back, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “You seem surprised. Did you think he was incapable of love?”

Kim Dokja did not say, Yes, absolutely.

Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, “What exactly is the purpose of this scenario?”

“To spend time with me, of course!” Saram replied brightly, before leaning closer, his voice dropping suggestively. “Don’t worry—I don’t bite. Much.”

Kim Dokja scooted back instinctively.

⎡ Constellation Abyssal Black Flame Dragon bursts into laughter, finding your plight amusing. ⎤

⎡ Constellation Secretive Plotter sighs but says nothing. ⎤

Throughout the day, Saram found every opportunity to fluster Kim Dokja.

While showing Dokja the starlit garden that seemed to exist between realities, Saram casually commented, “You know, for someone who deals with life-and-death scenarios daily, you have a surprisingly composed face. It’s almost… infuriatingly unreadable. Are you always this calm, or is this just for me?”

Dokja avoided eye contact, trying to focus on the nonsensical task of categorizing glowing star fragments. “I just… don’t let things get to me.”

Sarambraised an eyebrow. “Really? Not even when I look at you like this?” He leaned closer, his expression playful but his gaze sharp.

⎡ Constellation Bald General of Justice whistles approvingly. ⎤

⎡ Constellation Demon-like Judge of Fire mutters, ‘I ship it.’ ⎤

Saram casts a glance at the Constellations, "Behave, you children."

There's a silence from the Constellations which made Dokja gulp, wondering how much power this man had to quiet them all.

Dokja turned away, his voice clipped. “Do you always tease strangers like this?”

Saram laughed, the sound warm and unapologetic. “Only the interesting ones.”

As the day wore on, Saram grew bolder in his attempts to rattle Dokja’s composure.

At one point, he leaned against a tree, arms crossed, and watched Dokja struggle with yet another nonsensical task involving glowing orbs. “You know,” he said casually, “if I weren’t already married, I might have considered claiming you for myself.”

Dokja froze mid-motion, nearly dropping the orb in his hand. “Excuse me?”

Saram smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. “What? Can’t I appreciate a brilliant mind and an unyielding spirit? Don’t tell me you’re completely oblivious to how captivating you are.”

Dokja’s face burned, though he quickly masked it with his usual deadpan expression. “I think your husband might have something to say about that.”

⎡ Constellation Secretive Plotter silently tightens his grip on his sword. ⎤

Saram laughed, completely unbothered. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He knows I like to keep things interesting.”

As the scenario progressed, Kim Dokja began to notice a certain spark in Saram's behavior that made him uneasy, and it wasn’t just the unnerving way he casually teased him throughout the day. It was the subtle but undeniable attention that Saram seemed to give him—like he was studying him, analyzing his every move with a sharp, calculating gaze.

Though the garden was serene, with a gentle breeze rustling the trees and soft light from the stars above, the atmosphere between them felt charged with something far more intense than just casual conversation. Every glance from Saram lingered just a little too long, and every comment was laden with something more than what was on the surface. At first, Kim Dokja brushed it off as part of the oddity of being in this strange scenario, but soon, he realized that there was an unmistakable curiosity behind those bright eyes.

Saram would often watch him intently as they sipped tea, as if waiting for Kim Dokja to reveal something of himself—his thoughts, his plans, his secrets. There was an eerie quality to it, like he could see right through him. And the way he’d occasionally smile, just the slightest curl of his lips, gave Kim Dokja the distinct feeling that he was being toyed with.

“Tell me, Kim Dokja,” Saram asked that afternoon, as they walked side by side through the starry garden, “Why do you always seem so guarded? Are you afraid of revealing too much?”

Kim Dokja stiffened at the question, instinctively shutting himself off even further. “I’m not ‘guarded,’” he replied stiffly. “I’m just… cautious.”

Saram chuckled, the sound warm but tinged with something mischievous. “Cautious, yes. But you’re not fooling anyone. You’re hiding something, aren’t you? Something important.”

Kim Dokja’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was an unsettling truth to what Saram said.

“It’s none of your business,” he shot back, trying to regain his usual composure, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that every word out of Saram’s mouth felt like a carefully crafted move.

And that was when he realized: this wasn’t just a random Constellation. There was something strategic behind the way Saram spoke, something calculated in his interest in him. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Saram wasn’t simply curious about him—he was intrigued.

The other Constellations had been amused by the sub-scenario, but Saram’s interest seemed far deeper. He wasn’t just playing along for fun. No, he was actively pulling at the threads of Kim Dokja’s life, his story, and perhaps even his own motivations. It felt like he was trying to understand the very fabric of his being, as if he could somehow use it for his own ends—or perhaps to simply learn about him on a more personal level.

Kim Dokja could tell that Saram was a skilled manipulator, one who thrived in situations where he could read others and subtly influence them. And yet, for all his caution, Kim Dokja couldn’t help but wonder…...

Did Saram actually want something from him? Or was this all just a game—one that Saram was determined to play to the very end?

As they shared a quiet moment, sitting beneath the stars, Saram leaned in just a little closer, his gaze sharp but playful. “You know, Kim Dokja… I find you fascinating. There’s something about you that’s both frustrating and intriguing. I wonder…” His voice dropped, almost teasing. “What would it take to get you to let me in? To show me the real you?”

Kim Dokja couldn’t help but tense at the question, feeling a surge of irritation mixed with something else. Was it fear? Or was it just the sense of being cornered by someone who could so effortlessly navigate the intricate web of his emotions?

“I don’t let anyone in,” he said, voice steady but the words betraying him. “I’m not a person you want to know.”

But Saram only smiled wider, like a cat with its prey. “Ah, but that’s exactly what makes you interesting.” He leaned back slightly, as if giving Kim Dokja a moment to reconsider, but the glint in his eyes never wavered. “You’re not as impenetrable as you think, Kim Dokja. Maybe, in time, you’ll come to realize that.”

The rest of the day unfolded with a constant undercurrent of this unspoken tension. Kim Dokja couldn’t shake the feeling that every word, every interaction, was another thread being woven into a bigger, more complex pattern that Saram was crafting with remarkable precision. As much as he tried to distance himself, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that Saram was interested in him—more so than any other Constellation Kim Dokja had encountered.

And it wasn’t just curiosity. No, Saram seemed to be quietly testing his boundaries, pushing to see how far he could go before Kim Dokja either cracked or completely shut him out.

The more Kim Dokja tried to maintain his distance, the more Saram seemed determined to break down his walls. It was becoming less about the scenario itself and more about the challenge of unraveling the mystery that was Kim Dokja.

By the end of the day, Kim Dokja realized that Saram wasn’t just interested in him because of the Star Stream or the scenario—it was because he saw something in Kim Dokja. Something that made him worthy of fascination.

Whether Kim Dokja liked it or not, he had unknowingly become a part of Saram’s plot—a plot he had no idea how to navigate. But that was nothing new for Kim Dokja, was it? After all, he had been thrown into enough convoluted plots to know that sometimes, the best way to survive was to embrace the chaos and play along.

The day was an utter whirlwind of chaos.

Saram insisted on dragging Kim Dokja through activities that ranged from mildly ridiculous (picking constellations to “adopt” as stars in their garden) to outright absurd (convincing Kim Dokja to play tag while the chat room provided commentary).

At one point, Saram raised a glass of wine and smirked. “You know, Kim Dokja, you’re not half bad. Maybe I’ll convince my husband to let me keep you.”

[ Constellation Secretive Plotter glares coldly. ⎤

Kim Dokja, somehow completely sober, replied, “I think your husband would kill me. Again.”

Saram only laughed. “He wouldn’t dare. I’m the only one who gets to torment you today.”

⎡ Constellation Secretive Plotter looks away, his ears suspiciously red. ⎤

As the day came to an end, Kim Dokja collapsed onto the cushions, exhausted but somehow… content. Saram lounged nearby, still radiating that chaotic energy, but with a softer, almost fond smile.

“You’re interesting,” Saram said. “I can see why the Star Stream loves you.”

Kim Dokja groaned. “I hate that.”

Saram chuckled, then stood. “Well, this was fun. But don’t think you’re off the hook. If you survive the next scenario, we might meet again.”

The world shimmered once more, and Kim Dokja found himself back with Yoo Joonghyuk and the others.

“What happened?” Yoo Sangaj asked, concerned.

Kim Dokja stared into the distance, his voice hollow. “I… bonded with the Secretive Plotter’s husband.”

The chat room exploded into laughter once again.

⎡ Constellation Secretive Plotter silently vows to make amends for the day’s chaos. ⎤

And somewhere in the Star Stream, Saram laughed.

The garden was quiet now, bathed in the soft, silver light of the stars. The stars above twinkled as if to remind Saram that time was still passing, even if it felt as though the entire world had paused for a moment. He leaned against a stone pillar, his gaze fixed on the starlit horizon, though his mind wasn’t on the scenery.

Behind him, the shimmering air twisted as a familiar presence appeared. It was a subtle distortion in the fabric of reality—one that only someone accustomed to the Star Stream’s constant manipulations would recognize.

"I see you’ve finally arrived," Saram said, not turning around. His tone was calm, almost casual, but there was a flicker of something more behind his words.

The figure that appeared behind him, silent as ever, stepped into the moonlight. The tall, imposing silhouette belonged to none other than the Constellation known as Secretive Plotter. Despite the heavy air between them, the quiet tension was almost… playful.

"Saram," Plotter’s voice rumbled, low and deliberately distant. "That was a rather… interesting day."

Saram allowed himself a small, knowing smile. "Interesting? Or just entertaining?" He raised an eyebrow, turning to face the other Constellation. "You didn’t think it would be easy to keep things simple, did you?"

Plotter’s expression didn’t change, but the glimmer in his eyes seemed sharper, like the gears of a complex plan were grinding slowly into motion. "You are… unpredictable."

"I prefer to think of myself as entertaining," Saram replied with a playful shrug, stepping closer to Plotter. "But I think you enjoyed it more than you’re letting on."

For a moment, there was silence. The kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled, because neither of them were in a rush. Plotter studied him, his gaze steady and unreadable.

"Why him?" Plotter asked after a pause, his tone quiet but cutting through the night air like a sharp blade. "Kim Dokja. Why go to such lengths with him? You know what kind of person he is."

Saram chuckled softly, eyes glinting with mischief. "He’s interesting, that’s why. He’s got this air of… complexity about him. You can never quite pin him down. Don’t you find that fascinating?" He tilted his head slightly, like he was watching Plotter carefully for any reaction.

Plotter didn’t answer immediately, but the corners of his mouth twitched, as though a rare smile had almost escaped him. It quickly disappeared, replaced by the usual, unreadable mask.

"You know him well," Plotter finally said. "But I wonder… do you see something in him beyond that? Or is it just the game for you?"

Saram met Plotter’s gaze unflinchingly, his eyes sparkling with something deeper. "Is it so wrong to want to have a little fun while playing the game? To see how long it takes before he finally cracks, or maybe—" He stepped closer again, his voice lowering to a near whisper, "—to see what lies beneath all those layers he’s so desperate to keep hidden?"

Plotter didn’t react, but the air around him seemed to crackle with the unspoken understanding between them. Despite his cold, distant demeanor, it was clear that Plotter had been watching his every move. And in that silent exchange, the tension between them was palpable. There was no need for words—both understood exactly what the other was thinking.

"And you?" Saram continued, this time leaning in ever so slightly, close enough for Plotter to feel his presence. "Do you ever let your walls down, or is it just me who has the privilege of seeing them crumble?"

Plotter’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, the faintest trace of something that could have been a smile playing at his lips. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the familiar, cryptic expression. "I have no need to lower my guard with you," he said, his voice low and controlled. "But you… you are something else."

Saram laughed, the sound rich with amusement. "I suppose we are something else together, aren't we?" He paused, then leaned in, his tone suddenly more serious, more intimate. "But don’t think for a moment I won’t be keeping an eye on you. This game of ours… it’s just beginning."

Plotter met his gaze evenly, his eyes filled with that same cool, inscrutable depth. "I don’t need your protection, but I’ll be watching, too."

They stood there for a moment, the starlit garden between them, both of them perfectly aware of the unspoken understanding that tied them together. It was a strange alliance, one forged in the midst of games and plots, but it was real in its own way. Neither of them knew what would come next, but neither of them was ready to let go just yet.

As the night air drifted softly around them, Saram smiled—a smile that wasn’t entirely light, but more of an invitation, a challenge. "Shall we see where this story takes us next, then?"

Plotter’s only response was a silent nod. He stepped back, his eyes lingering for a moment longer before turning to leave.

But Saram stayed, watching the stars as they sparkled above.

"Let’s see how far we can push this game," he murmured to the empty night.

[yeetfanficccc]

Love is for other people Boq Woodsman x reader oneshot Wicked musical

Concept- Shiz years AU(everyone is just vibing at Shiz and nothing goes wrong because I can’t emotionally do that right now) 

(Y/N) is one of Galinda’s friends trying to get her to admit her and Elphaba like eachother. Boq takes an interest in (Y/N) instead of Galinda. Nessa is just vibing and doesn’t like Boq because plot connivence. Fiyero is Fiyeroing in the background. I made up some fun Ozian words for Galinda to say! Not proofread, gender neutral reader

“So, you like her right?” 

“What!” Galinda gasped in her high-pitch tone clutching her chest, “I positively do not! That would be absurd, impossilosious even. We are just friends...” She spoke the last word in a breathy sigh, her long eyelashes fluttering. “Very good friends.” 

“Friends that stare at each other longingly from across the room?” Just that moment Galinda’s face snapped back to me from her not so obvious turn to Elphaba across the lunchroom during our conversation. ShenShen and Pfannee were eating near us and were only kind of aware of Galinda’s crush, so she leaned in further to me. 

“Hm.” She crossed her arms with a pout, “(Y/N) you’re too perceptive-its frustafacating!”

“You should tell her, really. From the way she looks at you, I think she might like you to.”

“Really?!” Galinda shot up from her seat eyes a blaze, “I mean… that would be nice.”

“I don’t know for sure of course. But you’ll never know if you don’t ask. Just think about it.”

“That’s the problem, I am very bad at thinkafacating when she’s around. My mind goes to mush. It’s very… very… oh I don’t know…”  

Galinda looked longingly at Elphaba on the other side of the cafeteria. 

Ever since the night at the OzDust, Galinda’s true view on Elphaba seemed to bubble to the surface. She pretended to hate her for so long that once they admitted they should at least be friends, all those deep-seated emotions were at a boiling point. For weeks now, (Y/N) watched as her most confident, cheery friend turned into a blushing idiot whenever a certain green witch was around. Really, it was adorable. 

In a way, I was a bit jealous. Sure, I’d had my fair share of crushes, but no one who made me feel like I was dancing on clouds high in the sky. So, I resigned myself to love from the sidelines. I supported my friends, kept my fancies to myself, and pretended it didn’t bother me. Love was for other people, not me. 

“Oh! Elphie is coming this way.” Galinda grinned, “how do I look?” 

“Beautiful as always. I’ll leave you to it.” I patted her on the back, “good luck.”

After a nod and signature toss-toss, Galinda shifted her focus from me entirely to Elphaba. I snuck away, smiling at seeing my friend so happy. My afternoon class wasn’t for another 20 minutes, so I decided to take a walk as a little treat. Shiz had breathtaking grounds, it was one of the main reasons I came here, I liked to take advantage of whenever able. 

“(Y/N)!” a familiar voice called waving his arms up and down. My soft smile grew.

Before, I knew it, Boq appeared at my side, “hey Boq!”

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” he said with a sheepish grin, “the clouds are umm… cloudy!”

“Boq, have you ever been in love?”

“What?” his face turned as red as his hair. 

“Sorry.” I laughed, “That was sudden of me. I just never have and was wondering what it felt like.”

“Oh.” A small disappoint fell over his face, “well I-I have.” 

“Really? How long did you date them?”

“Oh, we never dated. It’s just this person I really admire…they’re kind, smart, and endlessly breathtaking… they’re probably out of my league though.”

“Wait is this current? How come you never told me!” I grabbed my friend’s hands, and the poor boy looked like he was on the verge of passing out “sorry, sorry I got excited.”

“Don’t be sorry. You never need to apologize to me.” He said with sudden seriousness. It took me aback a bit, even making my cheeks heat up.

“Are you ever going to tell them? About how you feel?” 

“I want to. Even if it’s just so they could know how amazing they are. But it’s terrifying. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“That’s really hard.” I directed us to a clearing and laid on the ground. Boq followed suit, our eyes to the bright blue overhead. The wind swept past us, and for a moment the rest of the world fell away. 

“That cloud,” he pointed, “what do you see?”

“A dog. No wait, a girl maybe.”

“I see a scarecrow….and next to him is a lion, with a man- but not a regular man he’s stiff- like he’s made of tin.” 

“How?” I teased shaking him, “how did you unlock such a clear vision? I just see clouds!”

“(Y/N), there’s something I really want to tell you but-“

“Well look at these two lovebirds!” 

I peeked up to see Fiyero, hands on hips, gazing down at us with his perfect face. 

“Hey Fiyero…” Boq sighed, “Wait. What did you call us?!”

“I was just going to my favorite slack off spot only to find it occupied by you two. So, naturally I assumed this was some kind of romantic tryst. And during the school day no less! I must say I’m rather impressed.”

“Move, we want to look at the clouds not you.” I sat up. Boq next to me was clearly a bit frustrated.

“You’d be the first.” Fiyero contested. I mean, he wasn’t wrong, “Well, if this isn’t a date then I guess I’m free to ask (Y/N) on one.”

“WHAT?” Boq and I said in unison. 

Fiyero was nice as a friend, but I would never want to be with someone like him. He just wasn’t serious about anything including me. I had no idea where this was coming from. 

“You, me. Tonight, at the Ozdust.” 

“Well I don’t know what to say really…” 

“Wait!” Boq said way louder than he intended to, based on the growing exasperation on his face. “I want to say something first. (Y/N), I don’t want to freak you out but the person I was talking about earlier was you.  We’ve been friends for a few months now and I always have so much fun when I’m with you. You make everyone around you happier and brighten their lives. I think you’re incredible- but I understand if you just want to be friends. All I want is for you to be happy.” 

“Boq,” I choked, “that was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I would love to go on a date with you, to try things out.” 

“Please say I’m not dreaming.”

“You’re welcome.” Fiyero patted Boq’s head.

“Did-did you ask them out just because you knew I’d intervene?!” Boq stood up glaring at the prince.

“I like helping people. Besides it worked! Not that I wouldn’t want that date if this doesn’t work out…” Fiyero leaned down and kissed my hand, “but I want to see my friends happy.”

“We’re not friends.” Boq corrected. 

Fiyero sauntered off whistling and I was left picking up the pieces of what the hell just happened. 

“Did you really mean what you said?”

“Of course.” Boq blushed.

“Well Woodsman,” I kissed his cheek, “I’ll see you tonight, 7.” 

~ a month or so later

"And then Fiyero asked me out which lead Boq to finally confess!" I recounted my boyfriend Boq and I's coming together for the 100th time. I loved the story.

"Still, nothing is better than Galinda here stopping in the middle of her sentence to tell me that she dreams of me every night and just kept going like nothing happened." Elphaba laughed as her girlfriend lovingly pouted.

"I was covering my bases!" Galinda defended.

"All you had to do was ask and I would have done my Boq magic on you." Fiyero jumped in.

"I would have confessed on my own!" Boq tensed grabbing me tighter. My heart skipped a beat every time he got adorably defensive. Which around Fiyero, was a lot. "Eventually..."

"Please with my sister, it would have taken nothing. She would tell me about how frustratingly lovely Galinda was nearly everyday..." Nessa Rose giggled.

As I looked at my friends around me and my loving boyfriend at my side I sighed. My heart was bursting at the seams. Maybe love wasn't just for other people, maybe love could be found in the most unexpected places and people. Like a way too handsome munchkin boy who was brave enough to spill his guts to me after some clouds in the sky.

[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 ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ 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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[jumpywhumpywriter]

Vampire Hypnosis

Warnings: alcohol, getting drunk, depression, mentions/threat of blood drinking, intimate vampire whumper, hypnosis/mind control, kidnapping of a human

I got a few requests from several Anons to write a vampire with hypnosis powers, so I finally got around to it! (Thank you anons that suggested it -- hope you like this one!)

Author's note: this is a standalone short story -- I probably won't continue it at all (although I'm open to being convinced otherwise if anyone has good plot ideas)

I wrote this before I had the concussion symptoms and just hadn't posted it yet.

It was late at the bar. Really late. As in, past midnight kind of late. Tom was the only one left in the entire bar aside from one woman and the bartender himself. He had been drinking his worries away, miserably reflecting on the sad state of his life. Fired from his job, in heavy debt and single as ever. He knew wasting money on alcohol would only worsen his financial situation, but... he couldn't stop. He just needed to forget everything for a while.

His gaze drifted over again to the woman a few seats away from him. She was pale-skinned but gorgeous, with fiery orange hair and copper eyes, and with a sharp, distinguished jawline. Maybe he could make a friend for once, or at least try his luck at making a new social connection to possibly benefit himself later on. So, recklessly, he ordered another drink and got out of his chair, walking over to hand it to her. More money down the drain.

"May I spoil the lady?" He teased as he approached, offering it in a hand.

The woman turned to him with a charming smile, eyes sharp and assessing as they swept his appearance, a strange expression darting briefly across her features before it was gone.

"My, what a polite young gentleman you are!" She chuckled, tilting her head down seductively. Her voice was smooth and melodic and velvety and pleasant to hear. "And what might your name be?"

"Tom," he answered, smiling welcomingly. "And yours?"

The woman paused for a second, oddly, before answering. "It's Alice. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. She reached for the drink he was offering, and their hands briefly brushed -- resulting in Alice flinching slightly with a quiet hiss, recoiling and almost dropping the beverage.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked worriedly. "I--" his eyes flicked to her hand, and his blood went cold as ice, his heart plummeting all the way to his feet. Because there, on the side of her finger, was a small burn.

Tom was wearing a silver ring. And he knew of only one creature that could be burned by silver.

"You... You're..." his voice caught in his throat, a sudden rush of fear washing over him. He couldn't get the words out, but the word came to him like a flare in the darkness. Vampire.

He instinctively took a step back. Then another. Forget making a new friend, he needed to escape.

He'd heard a lot about vampires in the past, many rumors and myths about how his town had its own population of bloodsuckers lurking in the darkness. And the rumors aligned with the murders that occasionally happened, the victims drained of blood. All the evidence pointed to them being real, and now Tom was staring right at one.

"I'm sorry miss, I didn't realize how late it was," Tom said shakily, glancing at his watch. It was three in the morning, so his excuse seemed valid enough. "I'd love to stay and talk, but I must be getting home now." He got ready to bolt.

The woman watched him, eyes glittering with -- amusement? She took a sip of the drink he'd bought for her, before setting it down on the counter. "I'm sure you can stay for awhile," she said smoothly. "You can't hand a girl a drink without getting to know her. It's considered rude, you know?"

Anxious sweat beaded on Tom's brow, and his hands started shaking. "That was before I realized how late it was." He took another step back. He was almost close enough to the door now to make his escape. He glanced behind him to check the distance, before his gaze flicked up to meet Alice's, and his mind suddenly went fuzzy.

"Don't run," Alice whispered, but her voice sounded like it was right in his ears, like she was standing right next to him instead of on a chair at the bar counter. "Come and have a seat. Let's talk."

Tom shivered, something strange brushing against his mind, latching onto his thoughts. He was moving before he even realized it, walking robotically toward Alice and settling down in the chair next to hers. Not good. Once his brain caught up he panicked, lurching back out of the chair to run away.

"Ah-ah!" I didn't say you could leave," Alice rumbled, eyes focused and intense. "Stay."

And to Tom's horror, his body listened, freezing in place before dragging him back to the chair again, as if an unseen force was controlling his movements. He squirmed and fought against invisible restraints locking all his muscles up, holding him in place. The effort was fruitless.

Alice merely looked amused, gaze sweeping over him, slow and appreciating. "Sorry if I scared you, sometimes I make mistakes that give me away," she chuckled darkly. "But I meant what I said earlier -- it's terribly rude to give a gal a drink and bail right after. Even if that gal is... someone like me." her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper at the end, confirming Tom's awful suspicion.

The hair on his arms bristled with fear, a shiver of dread racing down his spine. No. This couldn't be happening. Maybe he'd had one too many drinks and was imagining this. Maybe he'd wake up and it would all be an awful dream.

"I've made a horrible mistake," he rasped shakily.

"Yes, you did," Alice agreed sweetly. "Happens to the best of us. Don't be too hard on yourself."

Claws caressed Tom's mind, a deadly danger he became viscerally aware of. Something that manipulated his desires, influenced his entire being on a deeper level. He was walking on very thin ice.

"What do you want with me?" He breathed, fighting to stay calm.

Alice tapped the counter with her fingers thoughtfully. "Companionship, I suppose," she answered vaguely. "I'm lonely, and bored, same as you were when you bought me a drink. That's why you approached me, was it not? In hopes of starting a conversation, interact with another life form to pass time and distract yourself from mental turmoil?"

Tom's throat was dry and scratchy. How could she know?

Alice chuckled knowingly at the stunned look on his face. "I used to do the same when I was human. It was a way to escape mortal dilemmas, just for a night, by talking to someone. One thing we have in common, it seems."

And the ONLY thing, Tom thought with a shudder.

"So what do you plan to do with me now that I'm at your mercy?" He cautiously ventured, digging for any hints as to her intentions.

Alice ever-so-slowly tilted her head to the side like a predator zeroing in on prey, a look that made Tom's skin crawl. "You know, I haven't fully decided yet..." She gave him a devious smirk full of dark interest. "But I'm considering having a snack. I'm sure you can figure out what that would entail."

"You--you can't do this!" Tom blurted indignantly, a sudden burst of anger piercing through the fear.

"I can't? You dare tell me what I can and cannot do?!" She scoffed, lip curling. "Let me make one thing clear to you..." She leaned close, teeth bared. "I can do whatever I want to you. Kneel."

Tom instantly fell off the chair and dropped to his knees with a thud on the floor before he'd even registered it. His body wasn't his own, controlled by a higher force invading his entire being, trapping him in his own head.

"Hey! What's going on? Is everything okay?" The bartender hurried out from behind the counter, alarmed.

Alice spun to face him, and the urgency instantly left his face, his expression going blank. "Everything is fine. Go back to your work. Ignore us."

To Tom's despair, the bartender turned away and robotically headed off to resume his duties without helping, leaving him to deal with the menacing vampire all on his own.

Alice shifted her attention back to him, sliding out of her chair and standing inches away in front of him, intentionally invading his space.

Tom's breath hitched, eyes widening a hair as she knelt down to get eye level with him. He strained against the compulsion to obey, scratching desperately at the closed door keeping him chained in his own body, frantically trying to find an opening, a weak spot, anything that would allow him to break free of the vampire's hypnotic control.

But the claws gripping his conscience suddenly turned sharp, digging in and sinking into his brain, tearing a cry of pain from him.

"The more you resist, the more it will hurt," Alice cooed, licking her lips. "Be a dear and bare your neck to me, mmm?"

Tom gritted his teeth against the pain blasting his senses, desperately scrabbling for any shred of self-control. But it was useless. Slowly, in twitchy movements, his head tilted to the side against his will, exposing his vulnerable neck. He was panting with the effort of fighting it.

He groaned in frustration, utterly helpless. His heart was practically pounding out of his chest with terror, racing even faster when Alice leaned her head in to bring her mouth to his neck. His breaths came fast and shallow and ragged as she pressed a light kiss to his pulse, toying with him.

"Please... don't, " Tom pleaded desperately, voice hoarse. "I promise I won't ever bother you again. Just... let me go."

"Who said you were bothering me?" Alice murmured against his skin, and Tom shuddered. "You smell... appetizing. Humans like that are hard to come by. Most are bland and boring, average. All the good ones are usually taken by the more powerful vamps."

Tom flinched at the scrape of teeth against his neck -- no fangs, just normal teeth. So far.

"You don't have to do this," he rasped pleadingly.

"Oh but I want to," Alice purred cruelly, nipping his ear. "It's too good an offer to resist. What are the odds of stumbling upon the perfect human in a bar like this? I'd be a fool to let you go."

Tom squeezed his eyes shut, trying to tamp down the rising panic. His stomach churned with nausea, bile climbing up his throat.

Alice gave him a playful bite on the neck, not breaking skin, before pulling away entirely, leaning back. "Do you realize now how futile fighting me is? How useless it is to try and run away? I want to hear you say it. /Submit/ to me."

"Yes... I know it's useless," Tom forced out. Anything to appease her and protect himself from further harm.

"Good." Alice ruffled his hair with a hand. "Luckily for you, I'm not actually hungry right now. I just wanted to put you in your proper place, set clear boundaries and make it known how utterly futile resistance is in my presence. And while I might not be interested in feeding right now... I will be later. And I think we could have some fun in the meantime, hmm?" She snapped her fingers at him like a dog, her voice gruff and commanding as she straightened, looming over him. "Up."

Tom's body quickly obeyed, forcing him to his feet before her, stiff and rigid. His eyes were wide and frightened as Alice stared at him, the compulsion wrapping tight around his mind.

"Sleep," Alice ordered, and his head instantly fuzzed, filled with cotton.

He pushed against it, fighting to keep his eyes open. He couldn't let his guard down around her, couldn't let himself be vulnerable and exposed like that, where he wouldn't even be awake to know what she did to him.

Alice smiled softly, shaking her head in amusement. "You've got a strong will, I'll give you that much. It's actually kind of impressive. But I'm certain you won't want to be conscious to see where I'm going to take you. I'm doing you a favor, really." Her eyes narrowed, and Tom felt her influence amplify, tugging insistently at his thoughts, dragging him down... down... down...

He startled when she cupped his jaw in her hand, rubbing it with her thumb. "Shhhh, let the darkness take you," she whispered. "I'll take wonderful care of you."

Tom wobbled unsteadily, eyes glazing over -- and a second later his legs buckled under him, exhaustion sapping his strength. He was distantly aware of cold arms wrapping around him, catching him and keeping him from hitting the floor, before his mind dissolved into empty nothingness. And he knew no more.

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

@floral-comet-whump @nevermore-ramblings @mj-or-say10

[actualbird]

/ spoilers and thoughts for luke's 4th bday card, SSR Journey Beyond + some deranged theorizing

i really liked this card story!! it was a refreshing novelty from most of the other luke SSRs released this year which tended to err on the side of "sickeningly sweet and romantic but not really telling much of a story" because this card story was different, it actually had a PLOT. WITH STAKES. WITH A BIG BAD VILLAIN FROM 2 YEARS AGO (SSR Dark Swirl) WANTING TO TAKE REVENGE ON AGENT RAVEN. i was very hooked, i found the entire conflict between Bright and Luke (and Rosa) interesting and entertaining, this story actually had me invested in what would happen next (which i havent felt for a while, with recent luke cards). i found that the flashbacks to the past were very valuable too, and my heart all but broke upon learning how Luke and Rosa missed each other all those years ago because they were BOTH yearning idiots who went to visit the other in their respective cities. IDIOTS. THEY DESERVE EACH OTHER.

all that said though, the thing from this card that ended up sticking in my mind the most though was the memory Professor Carlson shared where Luke told him he was giving up his studies and his position in Professor's Carlson's research group to join the NSB

because

what

i talked about this with Chika @khickuwa last night and we both agree that Luke's sudden desire to join the NSB looked like it came out of nowhere. of course, we know the backstory that he crossed paths with the NSB due to that transnational case that he got caught up in, but like thats one thing to be Aware of them. it's a completely other thing for Luke to sound so genuinely excited to join the NSB, to say that it's his dream, to sacrifice his prestigious position at the research group, to give up his studies in a field of study he'd excelled in for years. thats....a lot to sacrifice. why would he do this?

this card makes me desperately want more lore about the specificities of that transnational case Luke got caught up in, it makes me want to see the exact scene where the NSB interacted with Luke because like

holy shit, what did the NSB say or offer to Luke to make Luke literally shift gears on his entire life so definitively? did they appeal to Luke's deep seated sense of heroism, is that all it took? possibly, but if im to put on my Theory Goggles for a moment, this all gives me the feeling that like...the NSB wanted Luke specifically.

when the NSB found Luke, he was nothing but a particularly bright college student, but thats nothing out of the ordinary, there are tons of bright college students out there. so why did they extend recruitment to Luke specifically? perhaps because the circumstances of the death of Luke's parents has more to it than meets the eye, perhaps they were connected to something the NSB was investigating. i dont have any theories for what exactly they got caught up in, but i do know that if like....if the NSB had information on the death of Luke's parents...

that sure as hell would be one damn good hook and bait for Luke to bite onto

the NSB: there's more to your parents' death. if you join us, maybe you might be able to learn more about what happened and uncover the mystery---

Luke, before they even finish speaking: here's my application

while this is all just a theory, it's somewhat supported by an AU card, SSR Dreamlike Drama. in that story, Luke's parents were killed and he spent his life tracking down the perpetrators so he could enact revenge. as much as Luke in the present likes to say that hes Over It, he still misses and loves his parents (as is evidenced greatly in SSR Burning Reminiscence) and them being a trigger for him to change the trajectory of his life is still within the realm of possibility

this whole post is all over the place but my general conclusion is that like......Luke's life is so much more complicated than it originally appears. whether it's his later ties to the NXX substance due to his condition, or the possibility that his parents were connected to it when he was still a small child, it's like....i enjoy thinking about AUs where Luke lives a normal life, but man, it seems like he's almost destined to end up in this web no matter what he does.

[paintthetownblack]

After That Night

Eric Northman x reader

Part I ; Part II

Eric may begin to trust you, but there's a long way left to go. The plot thickens.

Mild spoilers for seasons 4 and 7.

-

I had slept all day, but I was still tired, and my thoughts were slow to form and slow to sink in. I was in front of the mirror with the corset marks and my musings about them, for a while, before remembering that the basement door had closed, but that I hadn't heard it lock. It wouldn't be an accident, it had to be an invitation to ascend.

I searched for a top to put on, but there was nothing. I suddenly felt overwhelmed. I had started to cry, when I saw the blanket on the fainting couch. I sighed at it, and I wrapped it around myself. I couldn't get it to stay up, I had to hold it with my hands, as I ascended the stairs, and entered the main room of Fangtasia.

Eric was there, sitting down, elbows resting on his knees, watching the basement door. He practically appeared in front of me, when I advanced a few steps, he seemed confused by my appearance. "Are you crying?"

"I was, a bit. I would like a shirt, if it's not too much to ask."

"Pamela." His voice resounded, and he got no response. "Pamela!" He shouted louder.

"You're no fun." She replied very cooly, as she walked up to me, from one of the back rooms, with a piece of hand luggage. "Neither are you." She placed the bag in my hand, as the other still held the blanket.

I went to the powder room, with the bag. I didn't feel like thanking her, I was losing my good humor. In the powder room, I realized those were all the clothes I had brought to Louisiana. Paused. This was everything I had brought. Everything from my old life. And now, it was in my new-new life, and I was technically a complete package. I felt that I could throw this bag over my shoulder and sink into the night, leave behind nothing but a scarce paper trail of broken leases and forwarded mail.

But I couldn't leave, the vampires outside the door wouldn't let me. Even if they did let me, would I want to? I had hit a breaking point, just moments ago, when I had found myself half naked, and alone, in the basement, with seemingly no sympathy directed at me; and I half wished I could go back to that panic now, I feared that the panic was the appropriate response, the response of self preservation, and that I was being foolish, to bounce right back from it, over an ounce of concern from Eric, and a bag of clothes. But I couldn't escape the situation, even if I did panic. What good did panic do? And if my instincts told me that Eric meant me no harm, that Pam had been truthful in the basement, what reason did I have to doubt them? My intuition never had led me astray. I found my composure again, fully. I got dressed.

My arrival interrupted a conversation between him and Pam. They both looked at me in sudden, perfect silence. "Can I speak to you in private?"

"I was going to suggest the same thing. Let's take a walk." Eric took me by the arm, throwing a look back at Pamela, whose expression was still cool and distant. I couldn't justify the change in her attitude from last night.

Eric and I walked quietly. As soon as we stepped out of the building and the open sky was above me, I felt my mind clearer. My anxieties, lessened. The moon was so bright, that the sky glowed a lighter, softer blue, and it radiated down onto the trees, and onto Eric's hair and face, and on his shoulders. His top was sleeveless, letting show the outline of his arms.

We walked until we came to the edge of a lake. Eric let go of my arm and stood still, watched the water for a long time. The moon reflected in it, the blue moonlight reflected off of it, and it was motionless, like the entire forest around us. It was the quietest night in my memory. I was looking between the moon, the lake and Eric. I couldn't decide which one was more beautiful, or older. Well, I caught myself, the moon was obviously older than Eric, but they had been around and together a long time. What a thing the moon must be for him, the only intermediary for sunlight he could have. That goes for all vampires, of course, but I felt for Eric in that moment specifically. Meanwhile, he was reliving an important memory, I felt.

I slipped off my shoes, to feel the grass under my feet. As quietly as I could. The dreary day of sleep I had had was almost forgotten, almost faded. Why was it, though, that we only seemed to connect out in the woods, and not at Fangtasia?

"Aren't you going to ask me what I'm thinking about?" Eric broke the silence, but not the spell. I still felt that unexplainable connection, unbreakable closeness.

"It looks personal. I don't want to intrude."

"That's a first. May I?" He reached for the hair around my neck. I stepped back, and tripped over one of my shoes, I stumbled a bit and he tried to catch me, but I caught myself first, and I stood straight.

"No, wait. I want to talk to you."

"We can talk after."

"You won't want to talk after, you'll say we're late, you'll rush me back, you'll put tape over my mouth-" I was arranging my hair around and over my neck, as though it helped.

"We're not sitting at Fangtasia tonight. Pam will oversee everything. We do need to talk." He sounded serious.

I was surprised, it didn't sound like the preface to a good discussion "well, even so, I would rather you waited."

"Why?" He came closer to me, to my mouth, his voice was very low.

"Because. My head will start to spin, and I'll forget... what I have to say." I swallowed.

"Does my feeding on you make your head spin?" That low voice was astonishing. "What is it with your bloodline and vampires?" He wasn't teasing, he sounded genuine, and baffled.

"That's a good starting point. What is it about you and my bloodline?"

"Your cousin... Her blood is special, and she is special. Which is why I had to let her go. But you? You came into my path of your own volition. Into my place of business. I think that exempts me."

"I don't think it does. This arrangement was not my idea."

"This arrangement is the best thing you could have hoped for, with your circumstances. Do you have any idea what I've lost to humans and their medical experimentation?" His voice was rising, I was starting to see his anger and his pain come to the surface, although I could tell this was but a fraction of what he was really feeling, deeper down. I tensed up, because my heart genuinely broke for him, even though, in truth, I had no idea.

"What reason have I given you to suspect me of something like that?" I wasn't hurt by what he said, but I felt the need to clarify that I wasn't that type of medical researcher.

"You haven't given me any reason to the contrary."

"Haven't I?" I countered faster than I could have blinked.

He looked at me with a kind of bewilderment. He continued to look at me, his eyes softening by the second. I could feel my heart pounding. He brought his face down towards mine, and he kissed me. I wanted him so badly in that moment, but I was shocked, and I froze. Then, I started to kiss him back. I brought my hands to his face, I wanted to enjoy the moment, and go slowly, lightly. He seemed to want to swallow me whole, he was moving so fast, he dragged my lip with his teeth, and almost growled, he was pulling me in closer and tighter. I kept one hand on his cheek and brought the other across his chest, then got away from his mouth. I whispered for him to slow down. I kissed him softly once, he frowned, he sighed. I kissed his jaw, his cheek, his eyelid, his brow, his forehead, the tip of his nose. He leaned into me. Then, I kissed him again, on the lips, and he seemed to understand that we had time, and that I was his, because I very much wanted to be. He brought his hands around my waist. They were so big, he might just have grasped my whole midline between them, almost. Then he brought them to my upper back, pulling me to his chest. I wanted to unbutton his shirt, I wanted to feel as much of his skin on my skin as I could, but, instead, I pulled away again "bite me. Please." His fangs came out.

He knew I was serious, he still looked at me for a second, and he kissed my neck a few times, before he bit me. His muffled moans were giving me chills, in a good way. And again, I felt no pain, but everything else was different now. The way he was holding me against him, the tingling sensation left behind on my lips, they were adding to this primordial experience of giving my blood to another creature.

When he pulled away, I again rested my head on his chest. Holding me, he sat down slowly, to lean against the tree behind him.

"What did you mean by not wanting to go back to the dark?" I asked him. Not knowing how I knew to ask it.

He looked at me, with his blood covered fangs hanging from his mouth. "How could you possibly know about that? I shouldn't even remember that."

"It just came to me." It was like a trance, the light-headedness from having been fed on, combined with his intoxicating presence, and the full moon; I came up with one image of him, in my mind. Of Eric in the day light, next to Sookie and a naked man. Eric burning in the sun, but very slowly. His fear was as authentic as if it had been my own. He was wrapped up in a red duvet, and he said it "I don't want to go back to the dark", and the dream ended. I felt his pain, but he looked adorable wrapped in the duvet.

"This is exactly why we need to talk." He whispered into my hair. He leaned his cheek against the top of my head, and waited for me to come down. I think it took a long time, because, by the time I lifted my eyes and opened them again, the moon was not very high in the sky anymore. The night was darker.

Eric picked me up in his arms and we flew to Fangtasia. This was an urgent matter. Too urgent to walk, but not urgent enough to wait for me to settle down. Interesting.

He put me down, before storming in through the door and breaking up the party. He was kicking people out very unceremoniously, with his fangs out, and blood on his face.

But I looked worse, walking behind him. I had blood on my neck, but also on my forehead and in my hair, where Eric had rested his head. And I was barefoot. Seeing myself in the mirror behind the bar, I scared myself.

Pam demanded answers that it was not in my power to give, so she stood, arms crossed, next to me, waiting for Eric to clear everyone out. He then dragged three chairs in the middle of the dance floor and sat himself down, running his hands through his hair. Waiting for us.

The atmosphere was tense. Pam simply knew this was about me, she was not happy.

"Pam." Eric started. He looked at his progeny with a regretful air "You were right."

I felt sidelined. "About what?"

"I had a feeling about you, Eric convinced me it was nothing. I will never listen to him again." She stated without turning to look at me.

"Pam believed you read her mind, earlier tonight. And I told her that was impossible, no telepath can read vampire minds, and that you weren't even a telepath. Now, I see I was wrong."

"I am not a telepath. I can't read minds."

"Then what was that earlier, about me wanting you to feel my pain, from my human days?" Pam mocked.

"It was a guess." I answered.

"But how do you explain what happened at the lake?" Eric interjected, calmly.

"What happened at the lake?" Pam asked, less calmly.

"She tapped into a memory from when I was with Sookie, from when I was under the amnesia spell."

"She did what?"

"Amnesia spell?"

"One thing at a time, ladies."

"Yes, little miss bartender. Let's. One thing at a time. Explain." Pam was looking at me, finally.

"I can't explain." I looked from one vampire to the other. "What's an amnesia spell?"

They filled me in on the witch coven, along with some other wild occurrences from the past seven years, intercut with color commentary from Pam. All the while, the moon set, the sun rose, and Ginger arrived for her day watch shift, unwittingly letting the light in with her, as she opened the door. Still, she was permitted to stay in on the discussion. She too interjected commentary, off and on, though it was mainly about how hot Eric had looked, through the various trails and tribulations.

I was sure I wouldn't remember everything I was told, and certainly not in order, it was too much to even process.

Finally, Eric deemed it appropriate to dissolve the meeting and relocate to our sleeping quarters. I was tired, but I was not looking forward to it. I believed I carried some unresolved issues with the basement, and I didn't want to return to it. But I didn't have to. There was a coffin. A double, red satin lined, coffin, to which Eric designated me for the day, so that I wouldn't be out of his sight.

The coffin was an exciting premise, but it led me to a different line of inquiry. Was this a step up or a step down, with Eric?

Part IV

[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 😇

[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

[bi-focal12]

Hi! Can you tell me more about All It’s Worth? It sounds really interesting!

Hi, I'd love to! The story is still very much in the planning stage so apologies if my explanation of it is a little scatterbrained but thanks so much for the ask :)

All It's Worth is a mainly a story about Meric- a bitter and cynical son of farmers who lives in a small, outlying village, and Myre Halcyon- the much-hated black sheep of the current ruling family (House Myre) who is treated favorably only by his mother, the sole ruler, and has a single-minded obsession with the Kingfisher myth (a myth told by the Prophets (and that is central to their religion) which promises the appearance of water and the continuation of their civilization into a utopia).

aiw is set on a small planet that is mostly a sandy desert, with eight outlying villages, 5 internal towns, and the Court at its center, referred to as SeaPoint (a common phrase being "all roads lead to SeaPoint", since the city is arranged in a large circle). House Myre occupies SeaPoint, as its matriarch is the current leader, and the 5 towns surrounding SeaPoint all have strong cultural ties to the Houses that live there (Houses: Wayle, Ayke, Toyl, Eryr, and Ruyn). Members from each of these Houses hold positions at Court, but House Myre has been in control for a long time, hence each of the 5 towns creating a sort of identity around the bloodlines of their most powerful citizens. The outlying villages don't have as much of a stake in the House drama and tend to be much poorer (and much more religious) than citizens in the 5 towns and it's quite a trek to reach the outlying villages, so its mainly just travelled by the Prophets who bring water (via wagons) from SeaPoint to these villages.

Pretty much the only way that someone from one of the 8 villages travels to SeaPoint is if they pay for passage themselves, are a merchant of some sort (and thus, have wagons to use/ride in), or are told by the Prophets that they have a Calling (which is essentially a religious apprenticeship, and as long as the Called party does the job they were Called for well, their family is sent extra water from SeaPoint).

Meric and Halcyon find themselves at odds with each other pretty much immediately, largely because Meric thinks everything the Prophets say is complete bullshit that people only believe to make themselves feel better, especially when it comes to the Kingfisher (since his entire immediate community is made up of farmers whose livelihoods depend on water, and he understands that drought on their planet is imminent and inevitable). Meanwhile Halcyon buys completely into the myth and even takes it a step father by dedicating his young life to searching for this mysterious Kingfisher (while most people in the outlying villages simply take comfort in the idea that water will come and things will somehow turn out alright and most of the rich/powerful are unconcerned). Being from a rich family, Halcyon is also very ignorant of the threats/reality of drought and this further sours Meric against him.

Meric and Hal meet first when they're children and Meric's interactions with Hal result in a botched assassination attempt, and then for the second time when Meric cons his way into the central city as a Prophet and gets wrapped up in a surprise coup against the ruling family (by revolutionaries and a few, internal usurpers from the other Houses). Very much a wrong-place, wrong-time sort of scenario for Meric, where he's only spared because Hal had recognized him and tugged him aside to question him. Thinking that they're both targets (Meric for his deceit and Hal for his blood) they flee the Court together and try to evade detection. Forced to stick together for survival, they begin learning a lot of unexpected things about each other as well as their society and its creation.

The plot largely follows their interactions with one another (after the coup) as they navigate such a sudden change in their personal circumstances, with a focus on how they ultimately spur change in the other. But their interpersonal dramas and the secrets they stumble across also have huge impacts in the social/political landscape of the planet, seemingly by accident. Free will vs fate is something I want to play with a lot in this piece, so that it could be totally believable for a reader to think Meric and Hal's contributions to the old power vs revolutionaries conflict are entirely coincidence or entirely pre-destined/fate. Ideally, the reader would only get impressions of these big political machinations happening in the background while staying focused on the personal dramas of Meric and Hal.

I also plan to base a lot of my symbolism around things I've learned about the actual Kingfisher! The religious "temples" are underground, for one, and called burrows and because it can take a pair of Kingfishers 3-7 days to build a burrow, so 7 is considered a holy number and the burrows are always 37 steps deep. The blue of their wings is also the color of House Myre. One website even mentioned that many kingfishers can eat prey that seem too large to fit in their mouths, and this has a direct parallel to Hal and his relationship with another person at Court who had power over him as a child.

A lot of the inspiration for aiw honestly came from the song Empire Now by Hozier

Anyways, I think that covers most of the set-up? I have a few scenes visualized already but most of the later plot is still up in the air. This is already so long lol but I figured id also share the singular snippet i have written out for this! pls excuse the name placeholder towards the end

I. Dear Waterfox  Meric tugged at the bright, red cloth loosely knotted around his throat. The shadow of his movement stuck out oddly among the eerie line of his neighbors’, all of them dutifully pacing down the Burrow steps in silence. Torches on the left, shadows on the right, praise be the Carpal Reign.  Meric saw his mother’s shadow move before he felt her dirt-stained hands on his collar, readjusting the fabric.  “Don’t fuss,” she murmured. “It’s just for today.” Meric frowned and rolled his shoulders to be free of the touch.  “It’s uncomfortable,” he hissed back, inching a finger between the fabric and his skin to slide the knot away from the center of his throat.  The heavy thud of a hundred dusty Believers descending 37 dusty stairs in single file did little to cover the sound of their voices. Meric stuck out his tongue at the scandalized few who turned around with silent, chastising eyes. “It’s ceremonial,” his mother replied pointedly, no doubt forcing the words out from behind an appeasing smile. “To show that you are a child of the Prophets-” “Since when are you a Prophet?” Meric’s mother pulled on his ear, her shadow still leaning over his on the wall. Someone else’s wobbled with a poorly hidden laugh. Meric swatted her away again, eyes flicking away from the red, robe-clad Prophets scattered past the Burrow’s inner opening and to the rolling carts stacked high with waterskins along the back wall.  “Meric, so help me-” “I know,” he said, though he left his ceremonial nuisance askew. “I know,” he repeated, quieter and to himself.  The line continued marching forward until there was no one between Meric and Prophet -name-, who looked just the same as he had when he left for his travels four months ago and nothing at all like he had when he was seventeen and fun and the son of the farmer’s nextdoor.  Those fields were barren, now. No one left to till them.

[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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