#and wade goes “:o magic”

[biitchcakes]

@mastcrmarksman replied to your post:

it's such a good one, it's so *chews arm* with nat id'ing phil's ptsd. maria's commnd. phil and nick. nat and jess. maria sendding clint to retrieve phil (the hug). jess and vlad. everything bout it.

YES ALL OF THIS. CLINT AND PHIL'S HUG IN THE RAIN 😭 Jess and Nat bonding is everything, I love this bit in particular:

Nat working through Her Own Stuff™️ so fast in the moment to make the split second decision to trust Jess. Jess proving Nat's trust in her was well placed and hauling ass to deck Derrida. ( How Jess continues to save "reality as we know it" by talking to Vladimir just moments later. )

And to top it off, Nat reacting with a good old casual ⸺

[nonnieapple]

⛈ ☂️ Peach Pit, 4- An Apple Core's Cyanide Seed☂️ ⛈

• (Akura-ou x g/n reader x Tomoe)  • r a t i n g: m a t u r e • 1 6 8 4 w o r d s  •  p o s t e d 14.01.2024    🌧  navigation 🍑 previous chapter 🍑 next chapter • s u m m a r y: you're a peaceful farmer in the mountains during the sengoku period. someone starts stealing your peaches, and the thief turns out to be a chaotic oni, and the events that ensue flip your life upside down. • c h a p t e r s u m m a r y: where you go, akura-ou goes, and where he goes, trouble goes. TW: fires.

  The peaches were still aplenty. It was curious. It seemed that he took your words to heart, only taking a few a night. It was fascinating. He didn't seem like someone with much restraint. Did he... tolerate you? No, no, that was a preposterous thought. Probably just planning and plotting to kill you and desecrate your corpse. 

  Enough idiocy. Today you had decided to venture down to a festival in the second nearest town. 

  The journey there was annoying but wasn't the worst thing you've had to endure. 

  You dawned a white kosode, right side over left. From up in the hills the town seemed to be bustling, but now it was a ghost town, and you were the ghost, floating and floating all alone in foggy air. At this rate, you could've stayed in your house and gotten the same experience with fewer leg cramps. 

  A wind blew by. You tensed. Peaches. Iron. Petrichor. And a hint of charred wood. It reminded you of...

  "Humaaaan!" Long, toned arms were thrown around you roughly. You gasped, reaching up to stop him from choking you. He didn't. You frowned. What the hell was that? That was the scariest hug ever. Felt like a chokehold for a moment. Actually, several. 

  "What the hell are you doing here?!" You seethed as you pulled at his arms. 

  Akura-ou let go of you lazily. 

  "I'm here to see if there are any pretty girls in town," He said, placing his hands on his hips. You scowled. You liked him better from afar, like a fireplace. Nice to look at, painful to touch. Well, not that good to look at. It also hurt. He hurt all around, his garish nature blinding. 

  You heard shuffling throughout town as though it had suddenly woken up. Much like bugs under a rock. 

  You reached a hand behind him, snapping your fingers on the other hand which he gingerly followed with his eyes. You wished you had your dagger. 

  "Did you follow me?" You whispered as people gathered around you. 

  "Maybe you followed me, human." Akura smiled, looking at your displeased, sharp eyes. 

  You retracted your hand. 

  The villagers came up to you, old and young, the young anxiously jittery, the old bowing their tired backs. You gazed at them, unimpressed.

  "Thank you for banishing the oni, oh great priest," They said, bowing, none coming too close. They didn't register Akura-ou's presence. His face twisted in a mix of confusion and agitation. 

  "You're welcome. Now let me pass, you're hoggin' the air," You remarked, turning to them briefly as a lock of your updo fell over your eye. 

  They bowed, scattering towards their business, the small stalls filling up. The scent of food and incense filled the air. It was becoming louder, but it was still rather quiet. A festival, close to Obon. 

  "The first time the last of the priests comes here in ages," You heard briefly. Something about human gods and sorcerers, magic, exorcism. Boring. You hummed in displeasure. You strayed from the main path in town, choosing to wade through empty alleys. 

  "Eh? Why didn't they run off when they saw me?" Akura grumbled lowly. 

  "Because they didn't see you. I placed an ofuda on your back to make you invisible." You pointed to his back. He twisted around, reading the ofuda. It read "air". 

  "You are too flashy and inhuman to blend in. The girls will run when they see you." You ran your hand along the wooden houses. 

  "Run to me," He corrected smugly.

  "From you. You're plain awful. Any human would run if they were in their right mind." 

  "You didn't." He leaned down. 

  You laughed hollowly, eyes closing as you flashed your teeth. Your laugh came to a halt, voice low and with a tired rasp. 

  "I said if they were in their right mind."

  You side-eyed him. He didn't wear his coat this time. Only the mesh shirt you had stabbed through and a layer of shiny gold necklaces, and dangly earrings. They swung with each one of his broad steps. 

  You stopped at the corner, leaning on the house. You pointed to a girl with glossy hair and a face like a doll. She was well dressed in a kosode with a chrysanthemum print. 

  "She's pretty. Maybe you should unlatch yourself from me and follow her around," You suggested. 

  Akura shrugged, flicking his hair and tilting his head to the side.

  "No, not my type." His ears lowered. 

  You hummed in deep, deep disappointment. You clicked your tongue.

  "What a pity." 

  You bought food from a stall, giving more coins than needed, and packing the food. 

  "Are you going to eat that?" Akura-ou nagged. 

  "I don't like eating in public." You averted your eyes. 

  "Just turn yourself invisible too. Big deal." He waved a hand. You raised a brow. The smell of the food was savory and tempting. 

  "I doubt I can hide myself from you." 

  "Why hide from me? I'm great!" He tugged on your shoulder. Thankfully if he touched you, no one saw you, so you didn't look like you were pulled by an unseen force. 

  "Where are you- dragging me! You fiend!" You spat, slapping away his claw. He stared straight ahead. You followed his line of sight. A stall full of alcohol. Something dark twisted at your stomach. Not hunger, not fear. Dread and craving were more of a fit.

  "I'm not drinking with a weird guy in a mesh shirt. A weird yokai in a mesh shirt? That idea's dead in the water." You hugged your waist, your shoulders raised tensely. He smiled unnaturally. 

   "Your loss." 

  You had never seen someone drink so quickly. It was like there was no bottom to his stomach. Because there wasn't. It was a void, a vacuum of alcohol. You blanched at the sight. You silently crept away, coming up to a stall with jewelry. They had a multitude of necklaces, earrings, and bracelets. You eyed the necklaces. One was of a knife much like your dagger. Maybe you'd commission a necklace with a mini replica of your dagger. So even if an insufferable jerk stole the real thing, you'd have something to remember it by besides your unreliable memories. 

  You picked out a rather pretty set with flowers. Sakura. It was criminally underpriced and you had to reverse haggle with the seller, a nice old woman with brown hair and eyes.

  You left, creeping away.

  "Trying to ditch me?" 

  You jumped, covering your mouth. 

  Akura-ou again. 

  "You must have something better to do." You avoided looking at him. 

  "How 'bout checking in on your kitsune friend for a change?" 

  The wind blew by. It was surprisingly cold, raising goosebumps on your skin. Akura looked fine. Even after so much alcohol, he was fine. 

  "You know Tomoe?" 

  Tomoe? That was his name? 

  Curious. The surprise was evident on your face as you slowed your steps. 

  "I saw him a few times." Correction- you saw him each morning, yet you felt like if you told Akura, he would freak out. You'd freak out. You were freaking out. Always. 

  "A few times?! He can never mind his business!" Akura barked, rolling his golden eyes. 

  "Neither can you," You muttered.

  "There's a brothel over there. Go there, maybe it'll help you... to leave me alone..." You whispered the last part as quietly as you could. 

  Akura looked to the brothel. His black lips were downturned. 

  "I'm bored here." He sounded like a bratty child. You blinked. Why were you even entertaining him? Sure he could kill you any second, but you might as well ignore him until he tries to. 

  You turned away and kept walking. You would be heading home after a few more stops. The reverence the villagers held for you sickened you and brought back unpleasant memories. 

  "Oi! Human! You hear me?" He rushed after you. 

  You kept walking, breathing in the fresh air yet untainted by his dark energy. 

  "This isn't funny." 

  You studied the architecture silently. 

  "What if I set something on fire?" 

  You shooed a butterfly away from your kosode. 

  "I'm going to kill someone. Who should it be? That old man? Or the little girl?" He said, forcing a villainous tone. 

  You stepped over a pebble.

  He huffed loudly. 

  You wondered if Maeda still sold baskets. His house was nearby. You could get some, splurge a little. Which was a depressing thought. A pitiful sign that you were getting old. 

  A glint caught your eye. A bright red one. 

  A fire broke out in a few stalls around you, the flames growing and flickering like blossoms in the wind. Your eyes widened. 

  You grabbed his wrist. He avoided your gaze now.

  "Stop this buffoonery! You're going to get someone killed-" Your heart thumped, fear setting in deep within you, an all too familiar fear of watching everything burn down to the ground. 

  You hadn't realized it until the first tear dropped. You were crying. Akura ou's expression betrayed his surprise. More powerful than any magic were human, stupid human emotions. 

  The fire faded. 

  You wiped your tears. They felt like blood on your hands as you stared into nowhere with static in your head. 

  "Human?" His voice rumbled from behind red locks. 

  You blinked away tears, searching for his eyes. Your vision was blurry.

  "What's your name?" He whispered.

  You said your name as quietly as you could. The wind blew, and it was surely whisked away. 

  You blinked away the last of your tears, shaking your head. 

  In front of you stood nothing but empty space, and your "air" ofuda was attached to your chest. 

  You didn't look at the charred stalls. You marched straight home, invisible and absent, your mind in the clouds and feelings in the doldrums. 

  That night no one showed. 

  You didn't know what to feel or think. 

  You cried in your sleep, and there was no one but your bed to wipe them away. 

  Little did you know, that there was someone who watched, all night, without touching a thing, besides a single peach. 

[cupcakemolotov]

Feel Like Home: Chapter Three

When your date night goes weird, sometimes you gotta SOS call your BFF. Particularly when you wake up with a slight case of amnesia and no idea where you are or who you where with. (Even if the bed is super comfy and the sheets smell nice. It’s still an emergency.)

Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Alternate Universe - Fantasy; Dragon!Klaus; Human!Caroline; Temporary Amnesia; Witchcraft; Canon-Typical Violence; Magical Shenanagins; Bonnie is the best; Caroline's Date Goes Sideways

Apologies for those not on A03, I have recently had to lock my account due to AI Scrapping. For everyone else, you will need to be signed in to see my stories.

-

“Well,” Caroline said carefully, her mouth dry as the desert. “That is… definitely a dragon.”

Next to her, Bonnie made a slightly choked noise, but Caroline couldn’t look away from the creature that lay draped along the tunnel in front of her. She’d never thought of a subway tunnel as small, even these old, abandoned ones that were no longer in use, but she had no idea how he fit.

How had they gotten him in? More importantly, how was he going to get out? Swallowing, she took in what she could see in the low light: the long, sharply wedged shape of his face, a sinuous neck that smoothed into shoulders that were almost too large for the walls to contain. His scales were dark in the dim light, the rasp of his lungs heavy and deep over the pounding of her heart. He was gorgeous and terrifying, and she didn’t know if her fingers were trembling from adrenaline or fear. Enzo had said Klaus was sixty feet in length from nose to tail, and right then, Caroline believed it.

“Teleportation,” Enzo said.

Finally breaking her gaze away, Caroline glanced at him. “What?”

A quick grimace. “They teleported him here. It must be one of the reasons they needed the unicorn, they’d never have managed it otherwise.” His jaw clenched for a moment, a sharp shift of muscle that spoke of a deep anger. Caroline couldn’t tell if the flush was from that anger, or the steadily increasing heat they’d been wading through for the past forty-five minutes. Dragons, even dragons who were being used like batteries, produced a lot of heat.

As soon as they’d snuck into the tunnels, the temperature had gone from frigid to the hot, balmy humidity of the tropics. The closer they’d gotten to where Klaus was trapped, the hotter it had become, to the point that even concrete beneath their feet had become uncomfortably warm though the soles of their shoes. They’d been forced to risk Bonnie magicking them some heat resistance before their shoes started melting.

Bonnie made a low noise. “I hope he eats them.”

Caroline almost choked on her gasp. “Bonnie Bennett!”

Her jaw jutted out. “You’ve never seen an unicorn. It didn’t deserve this.”

“Nothing deserves this,” Enzo said. “What our Dragon Overlord will do to the witches for this?” He paused and shook his head. “His cities have always been safe for unicorns.”

Caroline thought about that as she shoved at the sleeves that were slipping down her forearms, the lightweight material too warm. She’s already lost her jacket somewhere in the tunnel, the material too heavy to knot around her waist, and she was trying very hard not to think about the dull ache that has started in the arch of her feet. No matter how comfortable originally, no high heeled shoe was meant for this kind of adventure.

But not even the physical discomfort could distract her from the fact that she’d tossed a drink into the face of the human form of the dragon in front of her face. Past her had had some balls, and she was going to have to find them again, because Enzo said she had to touch him to activate whatever he’d left on her skin.

Touch the sixty foot, massive dragon that left her hind brain screaming in terror. Who protected unicorns and had apparently spent weeks charming her into forgiving him well enough that she’d spent the night. Planned to spend more than one, based on her bag. When this was over, someone was going to owe her a drink.

“How do we get to him?”

There was a pause, and Enzo glanced over his shoulder and gave a little shrug. “We run.”

Caroline’s eyes darted around the tunnel. It was wide open and the perfect place for an ambush. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Invisibility isn’t a spell I have in my toolkit, and unless my favorite good witch has been tinkering with new magic, it’s not in hers either.” Enzo spread his hands and ignored the glare that Bonnie shot in his direction. “There is what, two, three hundred meters between us?”

“Have you looked at the floor?” Caroline hissed. “Old tunnels are not made for sprinting, much less in heels.” She jabbed a finger towards the area around the dragon, which was shimmering like the desert sky in the hot noon sunshine. “Let’s not forget Mt. Doom over there. How is he not melting the walls?”

“Magic,” Enzo said with a shrug. “Another couple of hours and it’ll be colder than Hades down here.”

The heavy implication that it would then be too late hung between them and Caroline grimaced. “Bonnie?”

“I can’t see any magical traps, but that doesn’t mean much,” she rubbed her forehead. “There is too much magic to see anything clearly.”

Blowing out a breath, Caroline wiped at the sweat on her face. “So, to recap: we have to clear whatever the hell distance three hundred meters is so I can hypothetically break the spell on the giant sleeping dragon by touching him, without tripping on any of the grates or the uneven floor, and we have to do all this while hoping it’s not booby trapped or someone who can go invisible isn’t going to kill us?”

Bonnie and Enzo exchanged glances.

“Yes.”

“Unfortunately.”

The rest can be found here on AO3.

[mhysa-leesi]

˙˚ʚ(ѕυgαя ρℓυм)ɞ˚˙

Pairing: Dark Faerie King!Loki 𝒳 (femme) Reader 𝒳 Dark Alpha!Steve Rogers 🍄.

Summary: "Every spring harvest, your superstitious village offers and abandons a virgin in the enchanted forest to the Fae in exchange for a blessed harvest season. In an attempt to save you from being chosen by the Fae, your mother promises you to another village’s Alpha."

Word Count: 6,462 🧍

TW: Non-Con, EXTREME Dub-Con, Smut, Loss of Virginity, Breeding Kink, Naive Reader (kind of), Magical Intoxication, Fairy Mind-Control, Forced/Arranged Marriage, Forced Bonding, Forced Turning, A/B/O Themes, Kidnapping, Physical Violence, and Strong Language. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Idk what's up with me and my current obsession with medieval-themed human sacrifices atm 🙃. Also, yes, people in Steve's village live in little hobbitesque houses hehe. AND I combined and tweaked two (1, 2) Writing Prompts from (@writing-prompt-s) **ALL CREDIT GOES TO THEM! **ALL GRAMMATICAL MISTAKES ARE MY OWN.

AN: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. If you'd like to join my permanent taglist to stay updated on new and upcoming fics, please fill out this Google Form. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

AN Cont.: If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION.

Blossoms opened from budded boughs, unfurling their soft petals to the sun. Spring arrived on butterfly wings, carrying the sweet scent of sugary strawberries and almond blossoms on a warm, gentle breeze. The morning sunlight was soft and golden as it filtered through the budding forest trees. In this light, the azure waters of the lake sparkled like midnight stars, and pastel rainbows danced along the reflected water’s surface. Robins sang on their glowing branches that were dappled in golden shine, and flower’s came out of their furled buds.

You sang along with the songbirds, whistling as you dipped your toes into the glittering water. The sky above was so blue with cotton clouds drifting languidly like ships at a calm sea, and the waters so clear that the spanse of the lake’s surface looked like an infinite sky. You walked out into the vast sky; the wet fabric of your dress clinging to your body as you waded through the crystal waters. You floated among the clouds, listening to your own breaths as the waters lulled you with their ebb and flow. Dropping pear petals, as gentle as a fluttering butterfly’s wing, were blown from their branches and fell like spring snow.

You broke through the water’s glassy surface as you dunked yourself under. The golden sunlight sparkled and reflected off the water’s secret ripples. The world looked magical from under the swaying waters. You rose into the warm sunlit air, beads of glittering water kissed your eyelashes and lips and the trees that leaned over the lake sprinkled your hair with their soft scented spring petals. A passerine perched on a flowered branch, its feathers every shade of brown, the color of every tree, and of every rooted wood.

“(Y/N),” your younger brother called from the water’s edge, “Father says it’s time.”

You rode through a wild garden of crocuses growing under the shade of weeping cherries--gold, purple, and white. Your chestnut-brown mount galloped through the wood, by way of shafts of sunlight that glowed through transparent leaves down onto the forest floor, and past glades of silver birch, and a field of cotton and lilacs. The forestland cleared away as you rode through the outskirts, trotting by the side of an orchard of blossomed apple and apricots. You urged your horse faster down the rows of fruited trees and across sunny glades of rosettes of purple cabbage and pale pink sweetpeas. You rode past slopes of wild raspberry bushes, and across the dirt path fringed with soft white snowdrops, until finally, you reached home.

Your father greeted you with a scowl as he took in your filthy appearance. You ignored his glare as you passed. You went to the window and looked out on the lush green pastures of your village. Bumblebee bees buzzed and bumbled by as they flitted from one pollen flower to another. You could hear the carols of the clerics as they bestrewed the forest’s footpath with petals and the twittering harmonies of birdsong.

You wished you could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless as you flitted through the forest on colored wings without a care in the world, and no ritual ceremony to attend. There came a soft knock, then. You turned away from the window and tried your best to summon a smile at your mother. She filled your bath with hot water scented with fragrant patchouli and gourmand oils. You pulled your damp tunic over your head and went into the copper tub.

“Mother, what would happen if I refused to attend the ceremony?” you asked as she washed your hair, gently combing out the snags and knots.

She scrubbed your back and scraped the dirt from your pores, “You would bring your father great shame. It’s an honor to be chosen, (Y/N), it’s a sacred tradition of our village.”

It was so much more than that, you frowned. There was more to it than just some feast and ceremony… If you were offered you’d be left blindfolded in the forest for the fae to find and no doubt eat. None of the women who were chosen ever came out of that enchanted wood. When you were clean, your mother helped you from the water and toweled you dry. Your two young sisters brushed your hair and placed a crown of white orchids atop your head.

And the youngest, only nine years of age, dabbed perfume on your wrists and behind each ear. You dressed in a silken gown of mossy forest green, that was so smooth that it seemed to flow through your fingers like water. It draped across your breasts and the back fell away to gather lowly above your hips as it caressed your curves. You hadn’t known you were crying until your mother wiped your cheeks. Your skin crawled as you frowned at your image in the mirror, your two sisters oohed and aahed as they played with the rippling train of your gown.

When you and your mother were alone, she told you, “Don’t fret, my love. I’ve made arrangements for you.” You looked at her with a confused brow and she held a finger to her lips to silence your blooming questions, “You will know when the time comes.”

The Great Hall was hazy with the smoke of incense and the smell of freshly baked bread and honeyed duck. The stone walls were adorned with deep purple clematis blooms and creamy star jasmine, and embroideries of winged faeries holding a trug of golden wheat. A singer was playing the lute and performing an old folksong, but her voice could hardly be heard above the chatter of drunken conversations. You sat in your silks, nursing a goblet of sweet, red wine. You watched people dance and drink, and you soon found yourself envious of their carelessness.

Your father shot you a displeased look from across the hall and you immediately turned your frown into a smile. You smiled until your cheeks ached. The women beside you were better at masking their unhappiness as they smiled and sang. You had never felt so alone as you did now. You felt your eyes sting with unshed tears, and you did your best to hide them, knowing how angry your father would be if he saw you crying.

You drank, then. On the dais of which you sat, there was no one to stop you drinking as you’d like. So you drank. Draining glass after glass of wine until your body heated with arousal. You felt your tears swell again as you thought of your impending fate, and of all your past sins that might’ve doomed you.

You pushed yourself to your feet, “I must be excused,” you said to the girl with a crown of roses next to you. You turned on your heel and rushed out of the hall before your first tear could fall. You stumbled as you tried to leave, the wine pulling you every which way. The garden was quiet and empty. A lone statue of the first man to make an offer to the Fae stood high above the bold blue delphinium, you scowled at the stone man and cursed, “Fuck you,” you slurred.

“That’s no way to talk to a statue,” a voice said. You turned, slightly teetering.

A man stood under the shade of a yellow-leafed aspen, looking like a statue himself. The man smiled at you and you frowned, suddenly feeling too alone. The sounds of music and song spilled out into the garden. You wiped your tears and turned to go.

“The feast is that way, doll,” he said, pointing in the direction of the Great Hall.

You stared at the man, “‘M not going.”

The man stepped out into the light. He was tall with beautiful blue-green eyes and a golden-brown beard. He wore dark velvet, high black boots, and a sable fur cloak. You found it hard to look away from him. He’s handsome, you thought to yourself as he approached, you backed away from him with a lack of certainty.

“Why aren’t you at the feast?” you spoke unclearly as the garden around you began to tilt ever so slightly. You felt a coldness pass through you at his answer.

“I wasn’t exactly invited,” he told you, “My name is Steve.”

“(Y/N),” you said. Why did you give him your name? You scolded your drunk self.

“Yes,” he said as he came nearer, and you craned your neck to meet his eyes, “I know.”

You pressed your lips together and said nothing, turning and stumbling back into the feast with the sudden urge to be around familiar faces. When you opened the door, you turned back to the man, but he was gone…

The ceremony had officially begun at nightfall, just as the golden sun had set below the dusky horizon. Colored glass lanterns, in blue, green, pink, and purple, were lit along the forest’s pathway. The wind swirled around you, whisking the strewn petals, as you stood facing the enchanted tangle, illuminated by colored lanterns. Beneath an arch of twisted willow branches, a cleric clapped his hands together, and the music and whispers stopped. The cleric stood before your village and spoke with arms reaching toward the moon.

“The offering ceremony begins,” he shouted, “Let us all pray for a bountiful harvest season!”

The crowd murmured in response, no doubt too drunk to comprehend what the cleric had even said. You, and the other women, stepped past the twisted archway. Mothers stepped forth and held a silk cloth to the moon, bathing it in silver starlight. Your mother smiled thinly as she wrapped the silken cloth over your eyes. She whispered to you.

“Take this off once you reach the heart of the wood,” she said. “A man will be waiting for you there. A man by the name of Steve.”

The name caught you, “Who is he?”

“He will be your husband,” she told you as she tied your blindfold, “A Fae won’t choose a promised woman, as there’s no true certainty of her being a virgin.”

“What?” you blurted.

She shushed you, “Keep your voice down, child. You are my firstborn, my first love, I will not simply stand by while you are blindly led to your end for a damned harvest. Promising you to Steve was a small price to pay for your life.”

You were quiet as you tried to put the thought aside, but it refused to leave you. You dug your nails into your palms to try to keep yourself from shaking.

You, and the other women you were being offered alongside, held hands as you were led deep into the heart of the enchanted forest. In the silence you could hear the chirping of crickets and the croak of frogs, and the flow of a nearby stream. You swallowed and slid off your silk blindfold, blinking as your eyes adjusted to the pale moonlight. You looked around you. The other women stood as still as the nighttime trees and their bodies tense and rigid as they all steeped in anticipation and fear.

A cool wind blew in from the west, and it made the trees and silk of your gown rustle like living things. You shivered as a chill ran up your spine and to the back of your neck, causing goosebumps to rise on your arms as you felt you were being watched. You squinted as you peered into the darkness, and that’s when you saw it. Something big was standing in the treeline in front of you. Two yellow-green eyes gleamed from within the darkness.

A huge golden-brown wolf emerged from the shadows, stopping as its glowing eyes landed on you. A low growl rumbled from its throat, and you stepped backward. Your heart stopped in your chest and for a moment, you didn’t dare to breathe or move. Moonlight shone down on the clearing, spotlighting the massive wolf. You wanted to scream out to the other women, but your voice had abandoned you.

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, desperately groping for words that never came. Until finally they did.

“Wolf!” you bursted out with. You ran away, wordless, as the other women did the same. Fear filled your gut like a heavy meal of iron. You whimpered as you ran through the wood, weaving your way through the thicket. You heard the heavy footfalls of the wolf behind you.

You hid behind a tree and whispered a prayer to the gods. You listened; you waited. You saw movement from the corner of your eye, then. Blue lights floated through the darkness. You blinked and it was gone.

Another wisp of blue light emerged from the dark of the wood. It was a floating blue flame that flickered just a few feet from you. It’s flaring flames beckoned you nearer and your feet began to move on their own accord as you stared into the blue flames of the glowing fire. And just as you got closer, it moved. You couldn’t describe the feeling you felt as you chased the blue wisp like a child might chase a blue butterfly.

You closed your hands around the flaming blue wisp, then. And without a flash or noise, there was nothing in your hands. You looked down at your empty palms and frowned in confusion. You knew you had caught it. And yet here you were, quite literally empty-handed.

The long grass moved around you, then, flowing like viridescent water as a warm gust of wind came. You could smell the sweet scents of caramel, warm sugar, and fresh sugared cream wafting in the air. Your mouth watered, and soon you were following the sweet-smelling scent trail. Chords of a high harp and the gentle glittering notes of jingling sleigh bells tinkled in your ears, and you knew it was a song of ice, fire, water, sky, and earth. The nighttime sky was suddenly no longer above you, but below; rippling like glittering black water.

A soft golden light came down on you from above, specks of gold glitter glimmered as they caught the warm light. Your body felt as light as a spring petal as the gold sky veiled you. The air was warm as you found yourself stepping from a small sparkling pond, and onto soft green grass. As you rose from the starry water, that seemed to be alive with moonlight, you noticed that you weren’t wet through. You stood in the heart of a sunny glade, where there were blossoms of red poppies, yellow buttercups, and delicate white yarrow that kissed up to your calves.

You had half a mind to be afraid of your unfamiliar surroundings, but the warm sunlight and the scent of flowers and sugared cream soothed you dangerously so. You felt happy; so happy you danced in the warm wind with blue butterflies fluttering around you. You could feel the grass and flowers growing under your feet as you swayed and moved your hips to the music of the forest. Something’s wrong, this isn’t normal, you thought to yourself as your silk gown turned to a blur of green as you twirled, you wanted to stop dancing, but your body kept moving on its own accord. You felt hands on your waist, then.

You spun and faced a man who held you in a waltz. The man was sharp-featured with blue eyes that glinted a glowing green. He was dressed in black coat lined with deep green silk and with golden bronze armored plating. He wore a golden horned helm like a crown. His voice was like honey as he spoke.

“You almost got away from me, darling,” he said as he twirled you, the butterflies flitting along with you, “I’m lucky I found you.”

What? You thought, but the word never came out, just a drunken smile and a dreamy, “As am I.”

The man smiled at that. He held your waist with his left, and your hand with his right, and your feet glided as if you were dancing on air. You waltzed around the lea, under golden light, until your feet ached. He put a finger under your chin and lifted your head, so you were looking up into his eyes. They were so mesmerizing, you saw the wisps of blue light, and glimmers of the green forest as you looked in them.

“Tell me your name,” he said.

You heard your mother’s voice in your head, then. “Never tell a Fae your name, if you do, they’ll have complete power over you.”

“Cateline,” you lied.

His eyes glimmered emerald beneath the blue as he looked down at you, “May I kiss you, Cateline?”

No, the word was on the tip of your tongue, but that wasn’t what came from your lips, “Yes.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips came down on yours. And that was the beginning of the end for you. You felt the remaining remnants of your self-control melt away as you tasted him on your tongue. He tasted of spun sugar, toffee, and hazelnuts. In your sweetened haze, you feel the cold of his hands as he slipped the straps of your gown down your shoulders.

You clung to him tightly, gripping onto his cloak and silks as he deepened the kiss. You felt your gown fall down your legs and pool around your ankles. His hands slid down your body to grope your hips and waist, and you moaned as you felt his hands everywhere at once. He touched the soft skin of your breasts, then, circling your nipples with his thumb until they stiffened under his icy touch. You suddenly felt cold despite the warmth of the golden sun shining down on you.

You felt your heart pound, and your head with it as he kissed you breathless. His feather-light touches tickled the soft insides of your thighs as he dipped between them, parting your folds like blossoming spring petals. You gasped as his touch sparked something within your belly, and it startled you back to reality. You were unable to escape him as he held your body firmly to his. His deft fingers entered you, then, thrusting knuckle deep and curling against your most sensitive, sweetened spot.

“Tell me your name again, petal,” he said breathlessly as his fingers stretched and curled into your cunt.

“C–Catherine,” Your eyes were closed and mouth open, moaning, as he kissed along your neck and throat. Your legs shook and knees buckled as the coil in your belly tightened until it snapped. The feeling was intoxicating, you felt as if you were floating among the stars of an endless ocean of glittering night. You looked at him through your lashes as he sucked your juices from his fingers, he brought them to your lips, then, his eyes flashing red as you tasted yourself.

“What do you taste?” he asked.

“Sugar plums,” you slurred as you were drunk with pleasure.

He grinned a wide, fixed Chesire grin, and nodded, “Yes, my sweet sugar plum.”

He began to sway you again, holding you close to his chest. The world around you rippled as gold glittered around you. You felt blue butterflies flutter against your naked body and suddenly you were on your back, with the man above you. He was no longer dressed in his black and green robes, or golden horned helm. His skin was cold to the touch and sparkled like freshly fallen winter’s snow.

He kissed the inside of each thigh and up, until he reached your pubic bone. You writhed as a heady haze of ecstasy seeped into your skin, suffocating your rational thoughts with every throb from between your legs. His glowing eyes held yours as he licked up your sex, tonguing through your folds and circling your pleasured hood. Desire circuited through your veins, making your skin crackle with electric passion. You grabbed onto his dark, raven hair, then; pulling and gripping tightly as he dived deeper into your wetness.

Stop, you tell yourself. But you can’t. Your body is no longer yours as you grind your cunt on his tongue, igniting that spark of pure pleasure as you begin to unravel against his mouth. You fall, then, like a star through the sky. You pulse and throb and flutter as that flamed pleasure comes completely undone on his tongue.

“Tell me your name, darling,” he said against your skin, “Your true name, and I will tell you mine.”

You were going to lie again, a false name on the tip of your tongue, but the glints of blue, green, and red in his eyes loosened your lips, “(Y/N).” No!

He smiled devilishly at you, “I am Loki of Asgard, King of the Fae.” He kissed the back of your hand and crawled over you until his silken locks tickled the highest points of your cheeks. Your skin crawled as you felt his warm and hardened manhood drag over your stomach. Your mind was fuzzy as you felt him grip your hips, his fingers firm as they dug into the supple skin. Tears glossed your eyes as you prepared for the worst.

He pulled you to your feet, then, his arm snaking around your waist as he held a sugared plum in the other. The blue butterflies flitted around you with the purling movement, their wings fluttering golden dust over your shoulders and lashes. Loki took a bite of the sugar dusted plum, and held it to you, his eyes glimmering green.

“Stay with me, (Y/N),”

His voice was almost ghostly as it echoed eerily in your mind, like a cold wind blowing through moaning trees.

Do not take it… And yet you took it.

Do not taste it… And yet—

The sugared plum flew from your hands, just moments from your lips, as an arrow ripped through the lea’s golden veil. You stumbled backward, tripping over your own feet, as you gaped in fear at the man before you. No longer was his skin pale and porcelain, but blue with curious patterns drawn across his skin. His eyes were most terrifying of all, as they shone a violent glowing red that cut through the blackness of night. A shadow emerged from the dark of the forest, and came to stand in the moonlight.

Steve!

Out of gold and green light, Loki drew forth a golden scepter. Lifting it high over his head as he leered at the other man. Steve met Loki’s scepter with a steel vambrace shield on his wrist. He checked Loki’s flurry of blows, and fell back a step. Again and again they met, their steel clanging and clashing.

Steve threw his shield at Loki and the latter lazily swatted it away as if it were nothing. You watched with bated breath as Loki flipped Steve onto his back, pointing the daggered tip of his scepter to his chest as he loomed over him.

“Pathetic human,” he sneered as his scepter began to glow blue. He raised his blade and brought it down onto Steve. At that same moment, Steve held up his vambrace and an implosion of a glowing shockwave that uprooted trees. When their weapons touched, steel shattered. Loki was sent backward from the impact and Steve went to his knees.

Before Loki could regain his feet, Steve threw a net of wrought iron over him. An inhuman shriek echoed through the night, and you shuddered and covered your ears. Loki writhed under the iron as steam rose from his burning skin in wisps. There was a part of your mind that was still hazed with gold glitter and blue butterflies that told you to go to him, to help him--to give yourself to him. But when Steve draped his sable cloak over your shoulders and lifted you to your feet, that part of you dissipated into a glittered dust that blew away in the wind.

He mounted you atop his silvery steed and slid his feet into the stirrups. His arms circled you as he gathered the reins in his hands and urged his horse forward. The horse moved like the wind, smooth and effortless as you rode through the wood. A fallen tree loomed ahead, directly in your path. Steve urged his steed faster, then, and the silver horse leapt over the fallen bole as if it had wings.

You couldn’t say how long or far you had ridden, but a purple dawn had settled over your shoulders when you stopped at a grassy village that had houses with round doors and brass knobs in the middle. As you rode through the streets, villagers scattered apple blossoms in your path. You glanced at Steve, his blue-green eyes giving no hint to his thoughts. You passed through the square where stalls sold ripened fruits and where vines bloomed on latticed walls. Soon, Steve swung off his horse and lifted you down, you felt fragile in his strong hands.

He guided you into a house, then a room, with a hand on your lower back. Steve pulled blades of grass and petals from your tousled hair and pushed his cloak from your shoulders. You were still naked underneath his furs, and when he bared your breasts to him, you couldn’t help but cover yourself from his wandering eyes. You swore you saw his jaw tick as you covered yourself with your hands. He took one last look at your scantily covered body before leaving you with two handmaidens.

You sat in a hot tub of rose water with your knees to your chest. The women scrubbed your body, washing away the touch of Loki with rose scented oils. You thought of his tongue and how good it had felt against your body, and you flushed in shame as a warm desire began to pool in your belly. The thought of his icy touch made you shiver and suddenly the water had grown uncomfortably cold to you. The handmaidens toweled you dry with rose petals and dressed you in a silk robe with beautifully embroidered glittered stars.

“Can you tell me about Steve?” you asked as the two women combed through your hair.

“He is the headman of this village,” said the older one.

“And the strongest, bravest, and handsomest man here,” said the younger one dreamily.

You toyed with the hem of your robe, “And is he kind?”

“As kind as a leader can be to his people,” said the old woman.

“Very,” said the youngest.

You frowned as they left you alone with a platter of fish, cheese, and fruits, and a flagon of white wine. You sat there, stiff and almost afraid as you sipped from your cup. There was a faint knock before the heavy door of the room opened, then shut. Steve stood against the door, watching you. You were the first to break the silence between you.

“Thank you,” you told him, “for saving me.”

He shrugged and sat beside you, pouring himself a glass of wine. “It’s a husband’s duty to protect his wife.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words. “When will we be married?” you asked as you stared at your empty drink.

“Two days time,”

For two days your heart seemed to beat in your stomach as you lived in a constant state of dread. And for two days your husband-to-be was nothing but gentlemanly as he showed you an orchard of vibrant oranges and spoiled you with foods you’ve never tasted before, and flowers you’ve never smelled in preparations for your marriage ceremony. You slept in a furnished room with dark stone walls and a canopy bed draped with tulle and silk, while Steve slept in quarters away from yours. He had scarcely touched you since bringing you to his home, and you were grateful for that. After Loki you’d been confused, your mind and body telling you different things as you tossed and turned at night.

You were sitting by the window, the spring breeze wafting in the smell of oranges when a handful of handmaids came into your room, carrying lace and flowers. You stood still as they hurried around you, stripping you of your robe and rubbing you with rose oil all over. They dressed you in a sheer cotton gown with long fluttering sleeves and a dramatic train, dusted with delicate beadwork that sparkled when caught in the light. Your hair was next. The handmaids combed, pulled, and braided, and adorned your hair with roses.

Your heart pounded away beneath your gown. You looked regal, dressed in glittering beads and fragrant roses, but you didn’t feel regal. You felt sick as you slowly descended down the orange orchard toward Steve, holding a bouquet of baby’s breath. His eyes raked you in slowly from head to toe and returned to your face with a look that could only be described as hunger. You trembled as you said your vows, kneeling in front of a wooden altar as you bound your wrist to his with silk.

Steve led you to his room after the ceremony. Your feet felt as heavy as lead as you climbed the staircase behind him, his hand still bound to yours. The room was lit with firelight as candles around the room glowed and swayed. The stone floor was covered with wolfskins, and there was a flagon of wine and two cups on the nightstand. You looked up at Steve through your lashes as your heart began to beat frantically again as he circled you.

Your body tensed as Steve undid the laces of your gown, letting it fall away to pool round your feet. Despite the heat from the candlelight, you shivered as you stood naked before him.

“Get on the bed and spread your legs,” he purred against you, “Show your husband your pussy.”

You stood rigid at his vulgar words. Steve slid his hand from your hip and slapped your ass harshly, you let out a gasp of pain.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he said. And you obeyed, wordless and trembling.

You laid against the pillows and spread your legs for him.

“Get ready for me,” for a moment you did not understand, “With your fingers,” he said.

You hesitantly did as he said, sliding a hand down between your legs and moving your fingers between your folds. You swallowed your quiet moans as you felt yourself begin to wetten under your touch. Steve was on top of you, then. Caging you in under his broad and strong body as he brought your wet fingers to his lips, letting out a low growl from his chest as he tasted you. His hands were on you in an instant, cupping your breasts and rubbing firm circles over your sensitive nipples.

He leaned in close, until the tips of your breasts rubbed against his chest, and kissed you. Steve’s kiss was unlike Loki’s, soft and delicate, yet burning with a fiery passion, like a blossoming scarlet petal that only a Fae could give, whereas Steve’s was all tongue and teeth like a ravenous wolf. His fingers thrusted roughly into you without warning and you whimpered in pain at the intrusion.

“Oh, I liked that,” his breath was hot against your temple, “Whine for me again, doll.”

And whine you did, as he fucked you hard with his fingers. You clawed at his forearms, leaving red welts across his skin as you tried to push him away. The pain began to give way to pleasure as that blooming warmth in your belly seized you with fierce claws, tearing through you so deep and hard, you had to bite down onto Steve’s shoulder to keep yourself from screaming. Your legs twisted and toes curled and breasts heaved as your whole body convulsed around his fingers. You began to sob as he tore through you over and over, until you were stupid with pulsing pleasure.

Steve held himself in his hands, thick and throbbing as he lazily stroked himself. You tried to close your legs as you took in his length, he was big, so big you wondered how he’d ever fit inside of you. He wrenched your legs apart, then, and harshly entered you in one, hard stroke. You screamed as he tore through your maidenhood. A deep snarl came from Steve at the tightness of your virgin cunt around him, and it mixed with your pained sobs at the pain and pressure of him inside of you.

He began rutting into you like a wild animal, then, as he held your legs up by the backs of your knees. The raunchy sound of skin against skin makes you flush in embarrassment as Steve grunts through gritted teeth above you.

“I’ve thought about this since I first saw you in the garden,” he groaned as he drove into you deeper and harder.

You squeaked as he slapped your cunt, making you jerk as the shocks of pleasure jolted through you. You grabbed onto his arms as he pounded into you, drawing red lines down his shoulders and biceps as you held onto him.

“You like how my cock feels? You like how deep in your pussy I am, (Y/N)?” he growled and you moaned in response, opening your legs wider to him. He snarled and growled again through gritted teeth, “Take this cock.”

He held you by your throat, forcing you to look at him as he fucked you mercilessly hard. His eyes flashed as your cunt clenched around him, glimmering an eerie yellow-green in the firelight. You recognized that glow and suddenly you felt as if you were back in the darkness of the wood. You were afraid now, truly afraid, as you remembered who--what that glow belonged to. You blubbered as you frantically pushed and slapped against his strong shoulders.

You whimpered as Steve began to fuck you harder and faster, unbothered by your feeble slaps and scratches. With a growl and glowing eyes, he lunged forward and bit into your neck, sinking sharpened teeth into your soft skin.You screamed as you never screamed before as he clamped down on you. He kept his hold on your neck locked and firm as every sensation you felt in your body began to amplify. Steve released you as your vision began to dot and blacken, and loomed over you with a wicked, wolfish grin on his bloodied lips.

You wished you could’ve said his bite hurt, but that would’ve been a lie as the pain quickly turned into something more pleasurable. Your body alighted with a burning desire to have him buried inside of you for all eternity--to become one soul and body with him. You moaned, then, reminiscent of a howl as you came around Steve’s cock. You saw the moon behind your starry eyes and heard the baying of wolves in your foremind as an intense pleasure took you over the edge, drowning you in an indescribable ocean of ecstasy. Your cunt pulsed and throbbed as he kept on fucking into you with animalistic drive.

He panted over you, his hair falling into his eyes as he fucked you brutally hard, “‘M gonna fill your fucking cunt until it drips down your thighs, (Y/N). You’re going to take my seed like a good little wife.”

Steve growled and howled in pleasure as he emptied himself inside of your pulsing and constricting cunt. You felt him swell inside of you as his hips continued to rut into you, until he couldn’t thrust any deeper. Your thighs clenched around his waist as your body arched and shook underneath him as you came around him again. Soft moans left your lips as he kissed around your collarbones and jawline, slowly grinding his hips into yours as his cock softened inside of you. You murmured incoherent thoughts as he pulled himself free of your tightness, pushing his leaking cum deep into your throbbing pussy.

Your body was sore and aching, and you winced as the throbbing between your legs grew with the slightest of movements. Steve left you naked and spread among his furs as he poured himself a glass of wine from the nightstand. Exhaustion took hold of you, then, lulling you to sleep…

You dreamt of frost and glittering, white snow under the light of a pale moon. You were in the meadow, again, surrounded by flowers of all colors sprouted from the ice, strikingly vibrant against the blankets of white, and glittering, frosted butterflies. You glimpsed a flickering glimmer of green in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches of flowered cherry and plum blossoms stirred gently in the wind, soft, baby-pink petals falling alongside glittering snowflakes that kissed your lashes. You followed the gentle lure of the icy breeze toward the glimmer of green.

When you crossed through the threshold of the thicket, you came out on the other side of Steve’s village. Frost and fire consumed everything in its path as unfettered heat and cold scorched and froze the world. Snow and ashes fell in likeness, smoke and icy breaths in the same wisps. It was cold despite the roaring fires that surrounded you on all sides. A scream echoed through the night, and you went toward it.

Frosted giants with wings as delicate as iridescent ice, and eyes as red as a bleeding rose wielded swords white with frost and blue light against men in wolf’s furs. You saw Steve take one of the blue-skinned frost giants by its throat, his glowing eyes and golden-brown fur stark against the snow. The spilled blood crystallized and transformed into ruby butterflies that fluttered around you. Melting on your naked body to form a blood-red ballgown of tulle and chiffon. A familiar song reached your ears, then, a song of ice and fire, of water, and earth, and the sky.

… The sound of screams jolted you from your sleep. You looked around the dark room for Steve, but you were alone. You dressed in your wedding gown and stepped out into the night, but your feet never met the soft soil of the village. Instead, you met a veil of flaming, frosted glitter. You saw golden butterflies, crimson unicorns, and yellow bounding does and fawns, and a frosty silhouette of a horned man with glowing red eyes.

You stepped through the threshold as your name and a howl of a wolf echoed in your mind.

“Come to me, (Y/N), my sweet sugar plum…” With a kiss of a butterfly’s wing, you were in Loki’s arms. His blue eyes glinting green as you took a bite from his sugared plum…

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*тαgℓιѕт*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧: @hoosier-daddi, @kuranes-12, @syrenavenger, @thehuntresswolf, @kriegersimp, @haleyheart0197, @that-one-girl-who-simps, @xxmizzmariexx

[thepilotanon]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could do a few head canons of Loki experiencing his first pool day? Or just him getting into a pool for the first time with his s/o? 🥺

I think Loki would be used to swimming or going to a beach - but maybe a pool would be a different situation.

Loki would probably be used to pools being used as decorations, or only very little children being allowed to wade in the shallow waters. He knows how to swim in lakes and oceans, but seeing that he's brought to a swimming pool confuses him and asks if there's suppose to be a party or show of rejection of authority by playing and splashing and shouting in the pool.

Loki doesn't expect chlorine to be in the water, despite smelling it once coming close - he knows better than to swallow salt water from the sea, but pools back in Asgard were drinkable and very clean? He probably would be busy telling Thor off and gets splashed in the face...and then makes the most disgusted face you've ever seen? He spits and growls all "This water is absolutely disgusting - why are we swimming in it?" When you explain that it's to keep the water "clean" to a certain point, he pales and is like "...what do you mean by that?" before scurrying out of the pool because he honestly thinks it's a trap.

Once he's promised that the kids (I'm thinking it's only Morgan, and Clint's kids, and they pinky-promise with Loki) do not have oopsies in the pool, he ends up having some fun with you in trying water guns and pool noodles as water cannons. He has no problem holding you in the water or having you in his shoulders while helping you play beach ball - he definitely likes to help you get sunscreen on your back, and has a timer in his brain that goes off 20 or so minutes and tries to tug you to a shaded spot for a "break".

It shouldn't be surprising that Loki and Thor butt heads a lot while at the pool. They would wrestle and try to drown each other a lot, whack each other with pool noodles and fight over the floatie (Thor will rip it from under Loki while he's chilling, Loki will use magic to make it disappear under Thor). It's usually pretty fun to watch while you and everyone else have lunch breaks (since you should wait at least 20 minutes to digest), and the kids will shout and cheer for them while the brothers have at it without worrying about hurting anyone.

[snarktheater]

Ready Player Two — Chapter 10

We open Level Five of the book with lyrics from a Prince song about letting the computer use you. Because, in case you're just coming in, the book has suddenly decided to be about an evil AI who will gleefully murder half a billion people to get the thing he wants.

Except, does that escalation really track? Not regarding the Prince song, I don't have the time to delve into what he meant. But in terms of this story? Even if you wanted to be charitable and say that Ready Player One was critical of its subject matter (and I have written one Harry Potter's worth on why I don't), the subject matter would still be about human failings. Giant corporations using escapism to lull people into ignoring real and pressing problems for a profit while the world goes to shit. Or if you're a liberal, people choosing escapism over solving real problem.

Either way, the escalation to an evil AI doesn't really work. Even the Matrix mentions (the Prince song also has one, and though it's not in the quote, I have to assume it was done on purpose) in the context of this book were made by Samantha in the context of risks to human health and her general distrust of people's complacency in using the OASIS. More escapism stuff, basically.

This is Plato's allegory of the cave, if instead of the main point being that people who got out of the cave were so thoroughly transformed by the experience as to be incomprehensible to the people still inside the cave to the point of looking mad, we just suddenly ignored the whole system and said "remember the puppets whose shadows are cast on the cave walls by a fire? What if one of those puppets gained sentience and used that fire to burn all the people in the cave? Would that be fucked up or what?"

Though maybe I'm the fool for expecting a book that hasn't been able to parse the theme in any of its countless references (including The Matrix) to have a solid grasp of its own themes.

In the story, everyone is panicking from finding out they have ten to twelve hours left to live unless Wade finds six Shards when it took him three years for someone else to find one for him. Well, I'm the only one who knows about that last part, but still.

Wade himself is also suddenly experience a massive hero complex over having all these lives in the balance, because Wade Watts is just such an empathetic guy all of a sudden. And sure, Anorak used his survivor's guilt over his aunt and neighbor's deaths in the previous chapter, but then again, I'll remind you that guilt was really an invention of this book. So even if I can assume that Anorak found out about it because Wade used an NPC therapist and hacking is magic in this world, I still find it really clunky that the book thinks this is a progression of the character that it has earned instead of trying to shoehorn it long after it was too late to matter.

So Wade is in the clutches of what is clearly a panic attack. Which means it's time for Samantha to play therapist.

“Wade?” I heard Art3mis whisper. “Please stop.” The tenderness in her tone, which had once been so familiar to me, now felt completely foreign.

See, this kind of moments is the stuff I live for when doing these write-ups. I read this and go "fucking jackpot". Because yes. Ernest Cline has certainly heard some of the criticism aimed at him, and it shows all over the place. So Wade now tells us he feels grief and guilt about the people he lost, and he now says he's totally fine with trans women or any other kind of gender and sexuality. And the book really tries to hammer in that Wade is not a good guy, and he's aware of it.

But in the small moments, at the times where the book isn't putting everything on hold to tell us about how much it has grown, when it comes time to have something happen, the old world view rears its ugly head and Wade's ex is forced to shoulder the burden of managing his emotions. Not his friends as a whole—which, so far, this book has been dropping hints that it wanted to be about the power of friendship, so I'd argue it would be more salient—but specifically a romantic interest.

And I just think that's pretty revealing about how much growth has actually taken place.

She's successful, of course. This all took a meager page. That's how much lip service the book is willing to pay to Wade's supposed problems. So now it's back to dealing with the problem at hand, while the rest of the cast is still panicking—well, regular panicking, they're not all having panic attacks. Also, all users like Wade who are logged in through some kind of vaults are now locked in completely, because the vaults are designed to be unable to open unless the ONI is disconnected.

Which, as an engineer. It sounds like not a lot of engineers were consulted when building this to me. But maybe they were the same Tesla engineers who built Samantha's plane with a hackable autopilot, and the prison with a security system that was also connected to the Internet.

Since the vaults are locked, this means they can't even initiate what they call a "lobo logout", which is the sort of logout that happens if the ONI is powered off without logging out first, and has a 90% chance of leaving someone in a coma.

(GSS never allowed the public to find out about that last bit, though.)

By all means, do remind me of how little I actually want these characters to succeed.

Anyway, I don't know why the book is even informing us of this, since, again, it has somehow been ruled out by Anorak's firmware update (which he has dubbed an "infirmware update", and I have to inform you of this awful pun because the book has decided to keep using it). The point is: they are 100% totally stuck, and doomed to suffer from Synaptic Overload Syndrome from being in the ONI too long.

“This shit is unbelievable!” [Aech] said. “Faisal, how the hell did our admins let this happen? We’re always saying we have the smartest people on the planet working for us, right? And the ‘best cybersecurity infrastructure ever to exist in human history’? Some shit like that?” “We do,” Faisal said. “But we never anticipated an attack by an AI copy of our deceased CEO! How the hell were we supposed to prevent that? It’s impossible.”

Well, first of all, it clearly isn't. But more importantly, AIs aren't magic. Hacking isn't magic. Computers aren't magic. I can hold my disbelief over a sentient AI, because, you know, it's a science fiction construct. But the ONI, and the OASIS, and those vaults, they're all old-fashioned programs, and those can only do what they're designed to do. So actually, yes, it does raise a lot of questions if these programs were able to do this all along and the only reason they didn't was that there wasn't someone sufficiently evil at the helm.

Like, I've made a couple engineering jokes already, but I'll just say it more clearly this time: the fact that the ONI has redundancies that would keep it powered on in case of a power outage long enough to log out is perfectly fine. But the fact that the ONI's failure state isn't to immediately engage a logout isn't. It shouldn't be a functionality that a firmware update can just turn off, because it should be designed to do it on essentially a mechanical level. That's why electromagnetic locks will open if the power goes out—because the danger that can be caused by someone being trapped by such a lock with no way to open is considered unacceptable. Same thing with, say, a theme park ride: if the power goes out, the mechanical system is designed to minimize damage and risk.

Well, it is in cases of well-designed tech, anyway. Which is my point here: this was all shoddily designed. So either GSS doesn't have the smartest people on the planet, or it does, but management (in this case, Wade and the others pushing for as quick a release of the ONI as possible) interfered in the name of profit to forego proper safety analysis. Which could be saying a lot about capitalism (I've made comparisons to Tesla for that reason), but unfortunately, that's not the commentary the book is making at all.

At the end of this pointing of fingers, they eventually regain their composure and determination to work through it. Except Samantha—or at least, so Wade says. The book tries to pretend she'll rail into them because she was right all along, but no, she just gives a pep talk about how they can totally beat Anorak if they work together.

Again: great to have her shoulder all the burden of managing these people's emotions. Groundbreaking. Never seen before.

At the end of the pep talk, Wade reveals what the Robes of Anorak allowed him to do, which his friends look thrilled to find out, but Faisal reveals that GSS staff already figured out. They haven't reverse-engineered it, but they can at least determine if the Robes of Anorak are within a given space. This mostly means that they can at least be sure Anorak isn't listening in on them right now.

“Jesus,” Aech said, shaking her head. “So much for our famous user privacy policy.”

Oh, wait until Wade tells you what he's been doing with Lohengrin's information.

Samantha still thinks they should assume Anorak is spying on them, just to be safe, which somehow translates to only saying sensitive information inside the head office. So. Sure, let's just accept that or we'll be here all day. I've already ranted far too much about engineering shit for one chapter.

Faisal also gives Wade Bracelets of Detection, which will alert him of the presence of the Robes of Anorak if they are nearby. Which the GSS engineers were able to make because the plot said so. Again. Not going to waste my time questioning this.

But speaking of secrets Wade kept, Samantha also forces him to confess about the Big Red Button. This immediately prompts Faisal and Shoto to list all the things that would shut down if the OASIS truly went offline, and they act like it was irresponsible of Halliday to implement this self-destruct.

“Mr. Watts, if you—or anyone else—ever presses that button, it would disrupt global communications, law enforcement, transportation, and commerce….The world would be thrown into complete chaos.” Shoto nodded. “The entire drone protection force would go offline and remain offline,” he added. “There would be shipping delays, food and medicine shortages. Rioting. Markets would crash. States would fail.” He shook his head. “Jesus, the whole of human civilization might even collapse.”

Of course, isn't the actual irresponsible thing to have tied all these things to a single piece of software owned by a private company? Or living in a system where it was even possible for a company to own such a thing in the first place?

Taking down the OASIS (even manually for a few seconds by turning off the servers) would also kill the hostages, by the way, so that's not an option either. Are we really going to spend an entire chapters ruling possibilities out? For a book that's been so fond of glossing over a lot of details in the past, you'd think they would do this in a chapter skip rather than this tedious point-by-point debunking.

The crew also briefly speculate about whether Anorak might want to press the Big Red Button himself, if he has a backup of himself somewhere, and that Sorrento might help him with that. I don't know if that's plausible, but I guess we'll toss it on the pile of theories.

Also, this:

“Anorak has completely rewritten the firmware in some sort of programming language they’ve never seen before. They don’t even know how to disassemble or decompile the code, and even if they could, they don’t think they would be able to understand it.”

Okay, so. All software ultimately runs what is known as machine code. That's because computers are, you know, ultimately just a pile of electronic circuit, and machine code is basically just "do this with that component". Programming languages are all just fancy ways to create layers of abstraction between a programmer and that machine language. Decompiling just means taking the executable (which would be machine language or close to it) and turning it back to a human-friendly language.

So for a device like the ONI, you can't just "write framework in a different language" and have that work out. For code to run on a physical device, it has to be in the ONI's machine language. Potentially, if the ONI runs some kind of operating system, it might be in that system's native language, but even so, it has to be in a specific language to run at all. And I don't even know why you'd need the excuse! Reading complex machine language is already super complicated as it is, and for something as complicated as the ONI would be, you'd probably have to just reverse-engineer it to understand what it does.

Is this at all relevant to the book's quality? No, not really. But at least you got a crash course on the basics of how computers work out of it. And isn't that fun?

Well, I had fun.

They also rule out rolling back to the previous firmware, because that would require logging out to install it.

“OK,” Aech said. “Then we give him what he wants. Like, right fucking now. Whatever the Siren’s Soul is, it can’t be worth risking half a billion lives….” “Og apparently thought it was,” Art3mis said. “Otherwise, he would have given it to Anorak. But he refused….” She locked eyes with me. “We’re missing something here.”

Well, first of all, you don't know that Ogden was issued that same threat. In fact, it seems unlikely he was, since people would probably have noticed being unable to log out before now. Second of all, he could just be wrong. The Siren's Soul is almost certainly connected to his wife in some way, so to him it might be worth half a billion lives, but that doesn't make it so.

But since Samantha's concerns are promptly dismissed, I assume she's right. But before they leave, Shoto points out they should probably put out a statement to the people who are being held hostage, which Faisal immediately dismisses.

“I believe that would be an extraordinarily bad idea, sir,” he said. “We don’t want to create a global panic—or admit any liability for this situation—until we have no other choice.”

I mean, given that the panic is bound to happen when people try to log out and can't, it's pretty clear what his priorities actually are here.

Oh, but wait, because he also suggests to flat-out lie and say it's just a minor glitch and people will be logged out automatically when they hit their twelve hour limit.

“If we can pull that off, our customers will never know their lives were in danger, and that would save GSS billions in lawsuits.”

And yet, all of our main characters agree to this, including Samantha this time around. Because they are all awful, awful people. So they put out a statement, and give everyone free credits as an apology.

Faisal told us this was just an extra precaution, because each time our users logged on they were already clicking Agree to an end-user license that classified our headsets as experimental technology and absolved GSS of any liability for injuries.

I just love how Wade has no thoughts regarding any of this. But sure, I'm supposed to think this man cares about the cost in human lives.

Samantha then logs off, since her jet's autopilot slowed down to be refueled while in midair, and she's going to try to use that as a means of escape. She also livestreams the attempt to them, which I'm sure wouldn't backfire at all even though you just said you should assume Anorak would be spying on everything you do.

So our heroes watch as she puts on a parachute and opens the jet's emergency exit.

Faisal and Shoto burst into applause. I joined in, trying to ignore my fear. Was outsmarting Anorak really going to be so easy?

I'm going to guess no, because everything about the past two chapters tells me Anorak is going to be the kind of boring invincible villain I ranted about about five years ago. Specifically, Anorak takes control of the plane and tries to ram Samantha. Is that the kind of control a plane would actually have? I don't know, and honestly don't have the energy to figure out.

She still manages to escape by cutting out her main parachute, and lands somewhere east of downtown Columbus. And then Anorak tries to crash the plane on top of her.

But as the jet was about to crash, it pulled up sharply, so instead of hitting her landing site dead-on it made impact a few hundred feet away, in the middle of a deserted picnic area.

Okay. Sure. I imagine this will be explained at some point, but since the book isn't trying to give me a mystery that can be solved, I'm not going to break a sweat trying to solve it.

If it sounds like a fun, heart-pumping action sequence, let me clarify that this took two pages. Both ramming attempts were a threat for a paragraph each.

Anyway, the plane goes up in flames, and since it just got refueled, that makes for a lot of burning fuel being flung around, which means even if Samantha survived the crash and explosion, she's probably still in major trouble. Probably. I'd say it's unlikely for her to die off-screen in such an ambiguous fashion, but then again, Daito died off-screen in the previous book and Wade has a new love interest, so, who knows. Though I'll still work on the assumption that she's alive until proven otherwise.

And that's the end of this chapter. Yes, really, we're gonna make a cliffhanger out of that. And also no progress has been made towards advancing the plot, at least on Wade's end.

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

Ultimate Masterlist

This is the ultimate masterlist for all of the x reader content on my blog, including other masterlists for series. The characters and pieces are all organized alphabetically.

* = Mature content but not explicit

** = 18+ NSFW (Minors, do not read or interact!)

~~~

Marvel

Series Masterlists

Being Friends Includes (BFI)

Poly!Moon Knight

Subtitles/Captions (WandaVision)

Bucky Barnes

Bucky Living on His Wakandan Farm With His Spouse

Eddie Brock + Venom

Imagine Venom’s Reaction to You Calling Them Your Angel

Grandmaster

Grandmaster Hiring an Artist Who Falls in Love With Him HCs

Imagine Kissing the Grandmaster and Not Noticing the Face Paint Smears

Loki Odinson

Imagine Helping Loki Through the Abuse He’s Suffered

Imagine Loki Giving You a Massage With His Magic After a Long Day

Multiple Characters

The Moon Knights & Layla as ✨Vibes✨

Peter Parker

Bleeding Heart

Imagine Saving Peter From Thanos

Peter Trying to Buy His S/O a Holiday Gift HCs

Peter Quill

Imagine Enjoying Footloose With Starlord

Night In

Pietro Maximoff

Floor Skating

Sam Wilson

Imagine Singing Shower Duets With the Stranger Next Door and Then Your Water Goes Out

Stephen Strange

Imagine Dressing up as Doctor Strange for Halloween (F!Reader)

Steve Rogers

Missed You

New Girl (Pre-Serum!Steve)

Steven Grant

Pathetic

Thor Odinson

Imagine Cuddling Thor After a Long Mission

Tony Stark

Imagine Just Listening to Tony Talk About His Worries and Struggles

Vision

Imagine Being Vision’s First Kiss

Come Back to Bed

Wade Wilson

Ice Packs

Imagine Having an Insult War With Wade Wilson

Wanda Maximoff

TBA

WandaVision (Poly)

Dating WandaVision HCs*

================================================

DC

Series Masterlists

Shut-In (2022!Bruce Wayne)

Diana Prince

Diana With a Shy S/O HCs

Jason Todd

Dating Jason Todd Would Include

John Doe (Telltale)

That’s Not a Real Kiss

Nanaue (The Suicide Squad)

Imagine Trying to Cheer up Nanaue With a Makeover

Oswald Copplepot (CW Gotham)

Sweet but Psycho

Poison Ivy

General Poison Ivy HCs

Sid (CW Gotham)

Imagine Going Trick-or-Treating With Sid and Your Son

Tim Drake

Tim Fighting With a Shy Superhero S/O Who’s a Badass Until They Catch Him Staring HCs

================================================

Mixed

Series Masterlists

Character Preferences

Others

Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Dick Grayson, and Tim Drake Whose Usually Relaxed S/O Gets Random Bursts of Energy

Relationships With Bucky Barnes and Poison Ivy HCs

Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Poison Ivy Reacting to Their S/O Being Catcalled HCs

Wonder Woman, Harley Quinn, Jessica Jones, and Domino With an S/O Who’s Never Been With a Woman Before (F!Reader)

[master-sass-blast]

Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter One.

AT LONG LAST, THE PLOT FICS ARE BACK, BAY-BEE!!! AND B O Y ARE WE KICKING OFF WITH A DOOZY!!!

As you can see by the title: this is chapter one of three for this fic; I had to chop it up due to length.

Also, this fic as a whole makes for my 100th part of the CHC! I feel like I should do something to celebrate. Let me know if y’all have any suggestions.

Summary: It's been months since anyone's seen or heard of Allison Ricci. At last, you think the storm might be over. 

And then Karen Page gets kidnapped again.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, and Frank Castle x Karen Page.

Rating: M for kidnapping, attempted murder, attempted suicide, canon-typical violence, gun violence, and depictions of injury. Like I said, we’re kicking off with a doozy.

Word Count: 4.9k.

Set after “Children of the Gods: Part Two.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @leo-writer, @emma-frxst, @sadstone-s

There’s no mention or sighting of Allison for nearly six months. Every trail you had for her before goes stone cold. The apartment is cleared out and abandoned. She doesn’t show up in the fighting rings, and even Karen and Frank don’t report anyone following them.

You start to wonder if she died for good this time. That maybe she revived and got herself and her mentor out, but didn’t survive after that.

(You wonder who’ll bury her body, if she’ll be lain to rest next to her family or in a random patch of ground somewhere.)

The storm seems to be over.

And then Karen gets kidnapped again.

***

Wade and Nathan are the ones that technically call it in –by showing up on your doorstep with Frank in tow.

“Allison’s back,” Nate says when your eyes bug out of your head. “Figured Xavier would want to have his people try and round her up, rather than there being an issue with mutant control.”

You blink rapidly, then nod. “Uh… yeah. Let me call Piotr.”

***

The perks of being on a technically-special-law-enforcement team with fancy jets: you can get to the scene a hell of a lot faster than conventional authorities.

You, Wade, Nathan, Frank, and Piotr meet up with Illyana, Mikhail (the two Rasputin siblings are there to “assist” with Allison’s specific powers, considering how things went last time), and Neena in the mall parking lot. After a brief rundown of the plan –get the civilians and Karen out of harm’s way, then detain Allison before the actual cops show up—you all split up and head in through the four major entry points.

The mall is packed when you walk in –go figure, it’s a weekend. Shoppers stroll from shop to shop, vendors at the pop up stands call out to passersby, music plays on the overhead speakers.

“The picture the kid sent me had a pretzel stand in the background,” Frank growls through the speaker in your earpiece.

“Food court, then,” Neena replies –in perfect, crystal clear audio, no less. “The kiosk map doesn’t show too many food stands outside there.”

Illyana tugs on your sleeve and directs you to the left. “We are close.”

You dodge to avoid a cluster of shoppers. “There’s a lot of people here. If she –if she has… weapons, like last time—”

“We’ll deal with it,” Nathan growls over the comms system before softly reprimanding Wade for trying to detour into Hot Topic. “Our goal right now is to capture Allison before she escapes again.”

“Civilian lives still matter,” Piotr insists before putting a hand on the small of your back to usher you around a “Wet Floor: Caution” sign. He’s armored down, but he’s wearing his X-Men suit under a black sweatshirt. “We must consider their well-being.”

“And if we tell them they’re in danger, we’ll make a panicked stampede, and that won’t help us or anyone else,” Nate says tersely. “Just stay calm. Our best bet is to try and talk Allison down without alerting anyone around us.”

“If she tries to hurt Karen—" Frank grits out.

“We’ll cross that bridge if and when we get there,” Nathan declares, tone permitting no room for argument.

The lot of you round another corner, passing by a shop that boasts having “all the latest console games at all the best prices” and a Victoria’s Secret—

“I see her,” Neena says. You hear thuds her footsteps pick up, and a second later you see her jog around a Starbucks stand and head down the hall to the food court. “Twelve o’clock, dead center of the court.”

Twenty meters away, sitting at a little food court table, are Allison and Karen; the former is dressed in all black, leaning back in her seat while staring down the latter –who, all things considered, doesn’t seem too much worse for wear.

Frank inhales sharply, then appears through the crowd a few minutes later, walking so fast he’s practically running. “Too many people here.”

“We’ll talk her down,” Nathan says, rounding the corner nearest the Macy’s with Wade.

Illyana tenses, then grabs your arm before breaking into a run. “We need to move. She has seen Castle.”

Sure enough, Allison’s scowling. She shoves her chair back hard enough to knock it into the table behind her; she stands, ignoring the complaints from the nearby diners. Her eyes start glowing blue as she glares at Frank.

“Ah, shitfarts,” Wade grumbles.

“Everyone down!” Nathan bellows before yanking Frank back and erecting a telekinetic shield.

A massive shockwave of blue energy erupts across the food court, sending shoppers and tables alike flying into the air. The glass, domed skylight over the food court shatters, raining shards of windows and broken lights down on the panicked, shrieking bystanders.

Illyana erects a shield before the shockwave can hit the rest of you. She grits her teeth as debris and a few of the shoppers closest to the epicenter bounce off it, tumbling along the tiled floor. “Still think we will ‘talk her down?’”

No, you think, gulping when you realize that some of the blast victims aren’t getting up. I think we’re well past that.

“Karen!” Frank charges towards Allison, shotgun –loaded with bean bag rounds—in hand. “Get down!”

Karen dives behind a toppled table.

Illyana charges at Allison, clothes shimmering as they morph into black body armor. She leaps over an overturned table, then extends her hand and fires a blue bolt of magical energy at the younger girl.

Allison ducks. She stumbles briefly, but quickly rights herself. She grits her teeth, then screams as she unleashes a volley of azure-colored energy blasts at Illyana.

“Go! Get out!” Piotr waves a few stragglers –with their phones out to film the ruckus, go figure—away. He ducks another round of fire from Allison, then armors up and strides towards her. “That is enough—” 

Allison whips her head to the side, then back at Illyana. She quickly fires a blast at Illyana –successfully knocking the older girl off her feet, then turns and unleashes a beam of blue energy square into your husband’s chest.

Piotr sails into the food court’s Subway stand with a groan and a resounding clang.

You cram down the urge to run after your husband –he’ll be fine, he’s taken a lot worse before—and focus on the fight at hand.

Nate, Wade, and Frank are pinned down; they’re using some trash can stands as cover, but Allison’s got enough firepower to keep them from risking getting any closer.

Piotr and Illyana are both down for the time being; your husband’s tangled up with the condiments trays, while the youngest Rasputin’s on the floor, groaning.

Neena’s working the perimeter, getting shoppers out while setting up to flank Allison from behind.

And Mikhail’s… disappeared—

No, there he is, you think when you see him blink into existence. You let out a short sigh of relief when you see him take Karen’s hand and teleport to a safer distance, then do a short run before launching yourself in the air. Alright, let’s get the boys some cover.

Allison’s head jerks back as she follows your trajectory. Her eyes glow, bits of blue smoke wafting off at the corners, and then she fires another bolt of energy at you from her eyes.

You flit out of the line of fire, then fling an arc of wind at her.

Allison topples onto the tile floor. She yelps, then disappears into the ground to avoid being ensnared in one of Illyana’s spells. She pops back up a few feet away moments later—

Just in time to see Wade duck behind an overturned table.

Your brother snarls, cursing and panicking when Allison renders the table to a pile of ash with a flick of her wrist. “Something tells me that murder baby’s leveled up!”

“Gee!” You holler back. “What was your first hint!”

“Go!” Nathan hollers when Allison uses a bolt of magical energy strong enough to rip through several store fronts. He waves Karen and Frank off. “Get out of here! We’ve got this!”

Allison whirls. She bares her teeth when she sees Frank and Karen escaping, then slaps her palm against the food court floor.

Brilliant, bright streaks of azure energy zip along the floor, twinkling against the tiles before disappearing a few feet ahead of Karen and Frank.

The floor –from edge to edge of the hall, leaving no area untouched—crumple into ash, leaving a pit more than twenty feet deep. The ground between the doors behind Allison and the girl in question evaporate as well, along with the spaces in front of the emergency exits.

“Just when I left my rock climbing gear at home,” Wade grumbles, sounding somewhat winded.

Allison charges towards Karen and Frank, rendering tables, chairs, and random debris to ash as she runs to get a straight shot. She knocks Wade off his feet with via chucking a bolt of energy at him, forces you to duck behind a Pizza Hut counter with another one—

And then runs smack into Mikhail when he teleports right in front of her.

Mikhail wraps his arms around her, then leans back so he clears her feet off the ground. He stumbles a little while Allison rages and snarls. “Got her!”

Allison swears –then twists and drives her heel into Mikhail’s crotch.

Mikhail drops. He curls in on himself, groaning. “Kroshechnyy kon'… O Bozhe, moi yaytsa.”

Allison tumbles to the ground. She dodges more wind strikes from you, then lets out a feral snarl as she charges towards Frank and Karen.

Frank yanks Karen behind him, then shouts as he barrels towards Allison.

He has no game plan. You can see it in his eyes.

You vault yourself over the Subway counter, intent on tackling Allison, or knocking her over with a wind slice, or –something.

Before you can do anything, a blue circle forms around Allison, glowing brightly before expanding into a domed shield.

Allison skitters to a stop. Her dark curls jerk and bounce as she looks around wildly. She seethes, then launches a blast of energy at the shield, only for it to bounce off the veil of energy harmlessly.

A few feet away, Illyana lowers her hand. She smirks. “There. Much better.”

“Will –will that hold her?” Karen asks, voice rough and shaky.

“Until we can find way to transport, da.” Illyana reaches up her sleeve, then pulls out a spell book. “I have potent sleep spell. Will take but moment to find proper runes for casting.”

Behind you, Piotr groans as he finally disentangles his head from a –now very crushed—oven. He staggers, shakes himself, then turns and sags with relief when he sees Allison in the shield bubble. “Oh. Good.”

“Are you okay?” You jog over to him as he armors down and all but collapses into a nearby booth. “Babe? What’s wrong?”

“Ears are ringing.” He groans and clutches his head in his hands. “I hit my head very hard.”

You rub his shoulders, reassuring yourself as much as you are him. You can only imagine where else he’s hurt if Allison managed to concuss him while in defense mode. All you want now is to get back to Xavier’s so your husband can get the medical treatment he needs. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be—”

The ground shakes.

You steady yourself on the booth opposite Piotr –then suck a breath between your teeth when it happens again, harder than before. “Shit.” You whip your gaze back to Illyana. “What’s—”

You see Illyana, teeth gritted and eyes glowing blue as she holds both her hands towards the shield. 

You see Nathan, Neena, and everyone else slowly backing away from the dome of energy.

And, inside the containment bubble, you see Allison, flinging attack after attack at the walls of the shield.

Your eyes widen when you watch Allison unleash a sustained burst of energy at the shield walls. Fuck.

Glowing, white cracks form along the shield.

Oh holy fuck.

“Get down!” Neena screams.

Piotr all but tackles you –despite his head injury—to the floor just as the shield gives way. He armors back up, then covers your body with his.

Magic energy explodes through the food court, flinging the remaining tables and chairs into the walls. All the windows –in the skylights, the automatic doors, and the nearby shops—blow out, spraying glass everywhere. The ground shakes, cracking and dissipating into clouds of ash in various places.

Allison crawls out of the crater left by her explosion. She pants, shoulders heaving with each breath. Her mouth tugs into a fierce scowl; her eyes glow so brightly that they’re almost white.

Cracks form on the ground next to her, glowing white and smoking. They widen into gaping holes, with vortexes of energy swirling inside them.

And then these… beasts crawl out of them. Snarling, slobbering monsters with fangs the size of your arm. Their claws shatter the tiles underneath their massive paws. Their eyes glow red, not unlike hellfire. They almost look like wolves, if wolves had crossbred with the Hulk and had ichor and tar dripping off their skin.

Your jaw drops. “What the…”

Mikhail lets out a whoop. “Puppies!”

“Do puppies normally look like they want to turn humans into sausages?” Wade yelps, skittering out of reach when one of the hellhounds lets out a howl that sends a plume of fire into the air.

Illyana swears up a storm. She flicks her wrist, summoning the Soul Sword to her hand.

Before she can do anything else, though, one of the hellhounds charges her, knocking her off her feet and into one of the nearby shops.

“Snezhinka!” Piotr shoves himself to the feet, armors up, and barrels off after his sister –with Mikhail hot on his heels.

The other hellhound stalks towards Neena, Wade, and Nathan. It growls, acid dripping from its teeth and onto the ground, corroding whatever it touches.

“Should’ve worn the brown pants,” Wade groans. “Okay –anyone got a plan?”

“Duck!” Neena shouts when the hound unleashes another fiery howl.

You don’t duck –or run, or attack, or anything useful. No, you freeze, torn between going after your husband and siblings-in-law, helping protect Wade, Neena, and Nate, or trying to get Karen and Frank away from Allison.

Speaking of which…

Allison is lobbing bolts of energy at Frank and Karen; she’s closing in on them fast, quickly cornering them against the crater she’d made between the food court and the rest of the wall.

Frank whisks Karen behind his back. “Hey, hey, hey!” He extends a hand towards Allison in some sort of desperate attempt to get her to stop. “Just calm the fuck down!”

“Go to hell!” She rears back for another attack –and there’s no cover, nothing for Frank or Karen to hide behind or grab onto—

The choice makes itself for you.

You jump over the booth Piotr had pulled both of you behind and whip a wall of wind at her.

The blast launches her off her feet. She shrieks, sailing behind a pile of rubble before disappearing from view.

“Come on!” You leap over to Karen and Frank. The sounds of the hellhounds are too close for comfort –and, judging by Wade’s shrieks, the general amounts of swearing, and Piotr’s groans of exertion, the beasts are winning. “Let’s get out of here.” You get an arm around Karen, then start to put one around Frank, intent on lifting them over the crater and flying them out of here—

There’s a scream, and then a thin, whip-like strand of blue energy wraps around Frank’s neck.

His eyes go comically wide as he flies backwards. He lets out a choked shout, then groans –guttural and rough—when he hits the ground.

Allison stalks towards him. Her teeth are bared, and she looks entirely done with the situation. …And then she pulls a knife out of her jacket pocket.

You level another blast of air in Allison’s direction.

She manages to deflect it with a shield, then fires a volley of energy bolts at you and Karen.

Karen dodges.

You don’t.

You careen into the crater, narrowly dodging exposed bits of steel bar reinforcement and some leaking water lines before hitting rock hard dirt. You grunt, wind going out of you as you crumple against the ground. Fuck.

The hellhounds are still snarling nearby. You can still hear their ghoulish howls, accompanied by the crackling roar of the fire they unleash with each snap. Above the hellish din, Wade’s swearing and shrieking about his ass, Nate’s firing his future gun, Illyana and Mikhail are arguing—

Dammit. You shove yourself to your feet, panting and swearing the entire time. Once you’re upright, you launch yourself to the mall floor—

Which is when a new sound makes itself known to you.

Frank is screaming. That in and of itself isn’t unusual –he does it quite often—but now he’s doing it on his back, hands wrapped around Allison’s forearms, trying to keep her from sinking her knife blade into his right eye.

You’d think it wouldn’t be much of a fight –but she’s winning. She’s using her powers for leverage against Frank’s strength. You wouldn’t think a teenager with arms like noodles would have a shot, but Frank’s arms are shaking as Allison slowly, inexorably, pushes the knife towards his head. 

Frank shouts –and Allison shrieks right back at him; she sounds like a pissed off barn owl.

You stumble forward, wincing and collapsing to your knees when your left leg screams in protest. Shit.

Allison bares her teeth at Frank –and then she freezes. Her body goes stiff. Her eyes roll into the back of her head –and then she collapses against the ground, limp as a ragdoll.

Karen Page stands behind her, stun gun in hand. She lets out a hard breath when Allison drops against the ruined tile floor, then turns the stun gun off and reaches to help Frank up. “You okay?”

He grunts by way of response.

Allison starts squirming against the ground, trying to push herself upright.

She yanks the barbs and wires connecting her to Karen’s stun gun out of her shoulder, seething and snarling all the while. She staggers to her feet, lurching wildly as she tries to regain control over her body. She whirls, dark curls flinging back and forth with abandon.

Frank snaps into action. He immediately throws Karen behind him, forcing her back and away as Allison storms towards them. He holds one hand out, keeping some space between him and the teen. His gaze snaps back and forth, searching wildly for some sort of obstacle to put in her path or some sort of cover to duck behind—

There’s a dull thud, and then Allison lets out a choked shout as she tumbles to the ground.

Behind her, standing in the wreckage of one of the shops, Neena lowers the repression cuff gun your dad created to help capture rogue mutants.

You bend over, panting as you brace your hands against your knees. “Cool. Awesome. Holy shit.”

The snarling of the hellhounds disappears, too; the only sign they were there to begin with are the mounds of ash they leave behind. 

Slowly, your dad, Wade, and the Rasputin siblings come staggering out of the surrounding shops.

You sidle up next to Piotr, who’s already armoring down and looks beat to hell. You nod at him when he nods to you, then focus on the scene at hand.

Allison crouches on the floor. She snarls, yanking at the repression cuff on her wrist.

“Okay –ow, fuck!” Wade cringes as he resets his dislocated arm, then limps towards Allison. “Alright, murder baby. I’ve been chewed on, used as a tug toy, had a shop light fall on my nuts, and I’m pretty sure my third cervical vertebra is never going to feel whole again. Your whole ‘vengeance blood lust’ was pretty cute, but I draw the line at spinal reconfiguration. Time for you to head over to Xavier’s Home for Extraordinary Children and do group fucking therapy like the rest of the X-Dweebs.”

Allison bares her teeth at him, then kicks him square in the crotch.

Wade shrieks, doubling over and dropping to the floor. He curls into a fetal position, whimpering over his “dangly unmentionables.”

“Enough, Allison,” Nathan grits out. He uses his telekinesis to drag her across the floor, steadily sliding her towards him. “It’s done. Let it go.”

“Eat –eat shit!” Allison scrabbles against the floor, searching for a handhold –then snags a loose gun (most likely dropped by Mikhail at some point) and fires at Nathan. She struggles to her feet when he ducks –breaking the telekinetic hold—then whirls and aims at Frank.

“No!” Karen flings herself in front of Frank –which results in a lot of protesting from him—and holds out a hand. “Allison, no! Killing him isn’t what you want!”

“Like hell it is!”

“No, it isn’t. He’ll be dead and you’ll be in jail, and you’ll still have all your anger with no outlet for it,” Karen insists, voice ragged. She fixes Allison with a hard stare. “Let it go, Allison. Killing him won’t change anything.”

Allison sneers. “Fuck you. Like this is about ‘change!’ My family’s never coming back, and I have to live with that every single day. I have to remember waking up to them being gone, to their brains on the walls, to his—” she whips the gun wildly to point at Frank “—stupid graffiti tag on the floor. No, fuck you! I’m the one who has to go through the nightmares and the loneliness and the grief and has to bury my family! I don’t care that this won’t change anything. I’ll feel good for five seconds, and that’s better than the past few months have been!”

Your stomach clenches. Shit.

Frank gulps. Eyes shining, he steps out in front of Karen –even though she tries to stop him—and puts himself right in Allison’s line of sight. “You want me dead? Do it.”

“Frank,” Nathan says, voice sharp with warning.

“Pull the trigger,” Frank says, stepping closer as Allison’s hands shake. “Take me out. I killed your family. I did the same thing to you that happened to me. I’m a hypocrite; I deserve it.”

Allison seethes, body trembling as Frank slowly approaches her. “I will! I’ll do it!”

“Pull the trigger,” Frank says, voice soft and thick with emotion. “Do it, kid. Take me down if you want it so bad.”

Wade pushes himself off the ground. “Castle, I swear to God—”

Allison growls –and lowers her gun. She sobs, shoulders slumping. She falls to her knees, body shaking with each gasping breath she takes. “You couldn’t just… kill me? Do me the favor of not having to live without them?”

Frank flinches, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows reflexively. “I don’t do shit like that, kid.”

Allison looks up at him –and her gaze sharpens. She smiles, sharp and manic. “Oh. So that’s what it takes to break you.”

And then she put the muzzle of the gun under her chin.

“No!” You fling yourself at Allison, colliding with her before she can pull the trigger. You tackle her to the ground, wrenching the gun out of her hands before hugging her tight against your chest. “No, sweetheart. No. No, no, no—”

Allison shrieks. Tears stream down her face once more. “Just let me die! Please! Why won’t any of you just let me die!”

You shush her gently, rocking her back and forth. You cast your gaze over your shoulder, looking to Piotr.

He’s scrubbing at his face with his hand. He meets your gaze, eyes widening before he shrugs, as though to say, “I don’t know how to handle this, either.”

“Okay.” Nathan crosses the distance to you and Allison. He crouches behind her, cuffing her hands behind her back before helping her and you stand. “Alright, kiddo. Let’s… let’s get you some rest. Okay?”

“I –I need Ar-Artemis,” Allison sobs. Her body heaves with each step she takes. “I need Artemis, I need her—”

“Okay, munchkin,” Wade says as he walks Allison in the direction of the jet. “We’ll get her called for you. Do you have her number? Anyone else you want us to call?”

“My law-lawyer.”

“That checks out.”

You hang back, letting Wade take over. You feel fried; pain aside, your mind is utterly void, a swirling mass of black and gibberish and too much and screaming and—

Neena hooks her arm around yours. She smiles at you when you look up at her, then gently ushers you after Wade and the others. “Come on. Let’s get back to the mansion.”

***

“I’m gonna fucking murder you, Castle!”

You wince as another angry shriek bounces off the walls of the jet’s cabin. You’re sitting on one of the benches, injured leg propped up on your husband’s lap.

Allison snaps and rages as Mikhail, Neena, and Wade try to buckle her in; somewhere during the walk to the jet, she’d switched from broken weeping to insurmountable rage once more.

Next to you, Frank keeps his eyes trained on the ground. He’s got an arm around Karen, who’s watching Allison in cautious silence.

“You’re fucking dead! I will hang you up by your fucking intestines! I’ll put your fucking sniper scope up your ass, you emo wannabe piece of shit!”

Wade snickers. “‘Emo wannabe piece of shit.’ Good one.”

Now that you’re up close to her, you can see just… how not well she’s doing. Dark bags hang under her eyes, stark against her pallid skin. Her cheeks and neck are gaunt –and, under her dark clothes and slapdash body armor, you suspect the rest of her body tells a similar story of grief and an inability to cope.

Who could cope, with everything she’s been through? The only person in this jet who has a similar understanding is the one that put her family in the ground –and he did that to cope with losing his own family and being shot in the head, so that pretty much says how well he’s doing, technically speaking.

Piotr squeezes you gently when you sigh. “We are almost home.”

Not close enough, you think as Allison all but foams at the mouth while she hurls insult after insult at Frank.

Wade rears back, shaking his hand. “Not the middle one! I need that one! Motherfucker!”

Allison spits his finger out of her mouth. She plants her feet, then tries to launch herself at Frank again.

“Enough!” You stand, careful to keep your weight off your bad leg. “You’re in a jet and you don’t have use of your hands. Either let yourself be buckled in or we’re sedating you!”

“This is bullshit,” Allison growls, even as she lets Neena and Mikhail sit her down and strap her in. Her eyes never leave Frank. “He’s the one who killed my family, and I’m the one in handcuffs.”

You march over to Allison as best you can. You’re not sure what your face looks like right now, but given the way she shrinks back you’re certain you look pissed. You plant your hands on the wall behind her, one on either side of her head, then lean in until you’re almost nose to nose with her. “You’re handcuffed,” you spit out between gritted teeth, “because you tried to kill yourself in that mall. The restraints are for your own safety; they have nothing to do with Frank.”

“But he—”

“Isn’t in our jurisdiction,” you tell her, voice hard. “We picked you up because you’re a mutant engaging in criminal activity. It was either us or the DMC, and if it’d been them, you’d be in the Icebox or dead. Frank only came because you kidnapped his girlfriend –and, frankly, it’s reasonable that he’d want to come along to save her.”

The dark-eyed teen pouts up at you. “But –my family—”

“Is gone,” you finish, voice softer now. You lean back a little so you’re not so in her space. “And I’m sorry you lost them, Allison. I really am. What Frank did was wrong. But you can’t keep on this path. You’re endangering yourself, and you’re endangering the rest of the community by reinforcing the belief that mutants are dangerous through your actions.” You straighten up. “If you don’t calm down, we’re going to have to lock you in one of the changing rooms until we’re at the mansion. Do you want that?”

She glowers, but shakes her head.

“Neither do I—”

“We can go into one of the changing rooms.” Karen stands, and Frank stands with her. She flashes you a sympathetic, appreciative smile when you look at her. “We’ll be fine in there.”

You heave an internal sigh of relief when Neena ushers Frank and Karen into one of the changing rooms, then slides the door shut.

Allison glares after Frank. She sniffs, chin trembling. “He killed my family. I woke up and –and they were gone.”

“I know, sweetheart.” You smooth her hair away from her face as she starts crying again. “I know.

“I want Artemis,” she sobs, skinny shoulders shaking with each breath she takes. “My phone –on my phone—”

“We’ll make sure we call her for you,” you reassure her as you stroke her hair. You grimace as she collapses –as much as the seatbelt lets her—against you, weeping against your neck. You hold her as best you can, trying to ignore the twinges in your leg or the creeping sense of ‘we’re in over our fucking heads… again’ crawling up your spine. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

[rosesloveletters]

Jakob! 🥺❤

questions taken from ‘acrostic f/o ask game’. Hi, Anaya! Thank you so much for asking 🥺 🥺 Since I’ve already done an acrostic for Jakob, I’m just gonna pick a few questions and answer ‘em because I still wanna talk about Jakey 🥺

H - Height - is there a height difference or a size difference in general between the two of you? how do each of you feel about it?

This is the height difference between me and Jakob (using Heath’s height🥺) I just barely reach past his shoulders I’m🥺🥺🥺 Jakob loves the height difference because he likes to hold me a lot, but he always asks to be the little spoon when we cuddle and it amuses him since I’m so much shorter. 

I - Image - show us a picture of them that gives you a lot of feelings. if they aren’t a visual character, describe your mental image of them!

My cuddle baby hugging his pillow after getting woken up prematurely🥺🥺 he’s such a snuggle bug🥺❤️

when he does the hand-nuzzling thing🥺🥺 he’s so soft and precious look at baby without his glasses how cute is he?!🥺🥺🥺

and then…THIS. she’s not interested in you baby, don’t waste your time on a player. This is how he flirts basically, why is he so cute?!🥺

L - Language - what’s their love language? what’s yours?

Jakob’s love language is completely unique. He is more traditional than his brother and he prefers to keep intimacy and pda to a minimum. He will hold my hand in public to make sure I remain close and he doesn’t lose sight of me. Jakob is fairly insecure, the times he feels most like himself are when he is writing. He goes through life with his head in the clouds, until the two of us met and suddenly the magic in his life takes the form of a person. 

he and I like to go on lengthy walks through the forest. He feels at home there, despite the misgivings he should have had based on the terrors he faced when the trees could move. deep in the forest where no one can see, he will pull me in against a tree and kiss me like we are the only two souls left in the world and in a place such as this, we might as well be. 

Jakob is playful and he likes to dash around and play childish games and laugh uncontrollably. Since Will won’t join him, he’s grateful for me because I play with him and won’t think of him as a child because of it. Jake doesn’t like to be serious all the time and it takes a toll on him mentally to have to be. Our love is innocent and pure, as well as passionate and full of fire. 

V - Vacation- where would you two go to get away?

We would have a little cottage in the forest where we would spend our time together. We could go berry-picking or wade through a rushing creek. We would also have plenty of time to spend writing and we could even write poetry together.

Z - Zodiac - what’s their sign, or if you don’t know, what would you guess it is based on their personality? (Eastern or Western - personal preference)

Jakob is a capricorn, which I think suits him perfectly. I greatly enjoy astrology/astronomy and would love to introduce him to my knowledge of the planets and space. Garnet is his birthstone according to his date of birth and I’d get him a necklace of one (I know he would never take it off.) 

questions taken from ‘acrostic f/o ask game’.

[deniigi]

its about 2am and i read your polycule stuff and now i have heart palpitations thank u very much. it has filled a void i've been silently hoping for but never expecting and if you happen to decide that you will play around in your own little verse space and do more of those drabbles, i will eat that shit up so quick

Oho

Well you are in luck anon.

Because I wrote a short one the other day for the discord.

The prompt was: Peter and Sam being smart together, which my brain translated as ‘Peter being an asshole trying to get information out of Sam and Sam smiling at him tenderly while telling him to get fucked.’ ❤

---------

Sam apparently hid his suit from everyone, which Peter found ironic given that it was an invisibility suit and he lived with a blind dude.

Matt said that the suit tasted like batteries which was not unlike the time he’d told Wade that he smelled like depression and cocaine.

That is to say: invasive and unhelpful.

Peter decided that he was going to get actual information out of Sam.

Sam loved him. He said so. Jokingly. Directly after they’d fooled around and Peter had offered him a coffee for the road. But like. It was still a declaration, no?

Shut up, Johnny, no one cares about your opinion.

The goal here was to wheedle information on the suit out of Sam.

 --

It didn’t come.

Sam laughed and told him Peter suit was made of hopes and prayers and then asked him about cacti.

He was a cunning and wily adversary, since that way definitely lay a Wikipedia time-suck that took up most of Peter’s afternoon.

 --

 Peter thought that maybe his charm could make it happen this time. He coaxed Sam east of Chinatown and wrapped arms around his waist and set his chin on his shoulder and told him to give up the suit.

It made Sam laugh really hard, which was a sign that the charm was working.

But then he leaned back into Peter’s grip and whispered in his ear that he’d give up his secrets only on pain of death, so keep going.

“You’re not that pretty,” he said tenderly, playing with the ends of Peter’s hair. “So I imagine we’ll be here for a while.”

Rude.

Rude as hell.

 --

 He tried to go through Hannah, but Hannah blinked at him and asked him who the fuck he was. Once he’d explained that he was her sibling’s kinda-boyfriend, she was so scandalized, she slammed the door and called Sam there and then to demand to know why he hadn’t told her of any kinda-boyfriends.

Hannah then emerged from the apartment again and pointed a finger at Peter and said, “Break his heart and I’ll break yours,” while Sam tried to talk her down on the phone.

So that was a bust.

 --

 He decided that he needed to think smarter, not harder here.

He located Blondie. He gave him the job of going into one of the baby Peters’ verses and locating a baby Sam to interrogate for information about the suit.

Blondie said he was on it.

He came back really quick, too, and then introduced Peter to a six-year-old.

Gwen laughed her ass off at him.

He told her to watch her back and then hunkered down to ask this teeny, tiny Sam what his feelings on invisibility were. Teeny, tiny Sam told him that this was a Pokémon move, which Peter already knew. So that wasn’t helpful at all.

He told Blondie thanks for his help, but no thanks.

 --

 “So it’s batteries,” Peter said, following Sam around the office.

Foggy loomed menacingly over the copy machine. Sam shooed him aside and took over standing by, collecting the papers it spat out.

“Everything runs on batteries, Peter,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“Right, so you’ve got an electric pulse going through. How do you distribute it evenly? What material are you using? Is it a superconductor? Are the batteries powering a cooling system?”

Sam blinked slowly at him and snatched another page off the copy machine.

“You wanna know what it is?” he asked.

“Yes. Desperately,” Peter said.

Sam waved him in close. Peter leaned in. Sam waved him in even closer.

He got right up against Peter’s ear.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” he said.

He pulled back and nabbed another paper with a smile.

“Any other questions?” he asked.

Uh. Dinner?

“Delighted to,” Sam said.

 --

 Mirrors.

It had to be mirrors.

“Yeah, man, he goes out as a human disco-ball every night and fights crime,” Johnny deadpanned. “That would totally work.”

Peter dumped him off the couch and took his place to lean over it and address MJ and Ned.

“Mirrors,” he said.

“Probably not,” Ned told him. “Invisibility is more likely achieved through manipulating light than mirrors, Peter.”

How? Explain.

“Oh, well, it’s probably a filtering system,” Ned said. “But it could be some kind of material that he’s made that uses the spectrum of light that we can’t perceive. It might be actually reflecting, now that you mention it. Kind of like a mirror, I guess.”

Peter stared.

“I didn’t pay attention in Wade’s torture class,” he said. “Do you think I should call him to re-book or?”

“Or you could just drop it?” MJ said. “Sam’s tech is Sam’s tech. Leave him alone and ask him about fuckin’ willow or something like you always do.”

Peter huffed.

“But science, Michelle,” he said.

Her gaze stayed flat.

 --

 “Okay, so I respect your defense of your ideas,” Peter said. “Like, a whole lot. But I just want to see it. Please?”

Sam lifted an eyebrow.

“Me in the suit,” he said.

“I’m dying for it,” Peter said.

“You just want to see me in the suit. That’s all,” Sam said.

Yes, pretty much.

“Okay, sit there. Don’t move.”

Holy shit.

Yes.

 --

 The suit was black with white stripes that went in some kind of pattern that Peter didn’t understand. He swore that they moved every time Sam did.

Sam held his hands out to the side.

“Suit,” he said.

“Hot,” Peter said. “Come here.”

“No, you’ll steal my trade secrets,” Sam sniffed. “You stay over there.”

Peter whined and made himself as sexy and charming as possible. He patted a leg seductively.

Sam’s mask was unreadable, but Peter saw him roll his eyes anyways.

“I hate you,” he said, coming over to sit on the designated thigh.

Yes. Science.

“Babe, you’re so sexy when you’re hiding intellectual property from me,” Peter crooned into his hair.

Sam leaned back against him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t call me ‘babe,’” he said sweetly.

“Or what?” Peter hummed.

Then blinked. Because he had no Sam.

O…kay?

No ‘babe.’ Message received. Where the fuck—

“Boo.”

He shrieked.

Sam laughed. Peter clutched at his chest.

“How did you do that?” he asked as Sam climbed over the couch and sweetly draped his legs over Peter’s.

Sam took off his mask and wiggled his black-gloved fingers.

“Magic,” he said. “Now you, sir, owe me dinner.”

 --

[michaelbogild]

Quotes by Arthur Rimbaud

A mysterious anthem falls from the golden stars.

A poet makes himself a visionary through a long, boundless, and systematized disorganization of all the senses. All forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he exhausts within himself all poisons, and preserves their quintessences. Unspeakable torment, where he will need the greatest faith, a superhuman strength, where he becomes all men the great invalid, the great criminal, the great accursed--and the Supreme Scientist! For he attains the unknown! Because he has cultivated his soul, already rich, more than anyone! He attains the unknown, and if, demented, he finally loses the understanding of his visions, he will at least have seen them! So what if he is destroyed in his ecstatic flight through things unheard of, unnamable: other horrible workers will come; they will begin at the horizons where the first one has fallen!

A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn

Against snow, a tall Beautiful Being. Whistlings of death and circles of muffled music make this adored body rise, swell and tremble like a ghost; scarlet and black wounds open in the magnificent flesh.

Along the open road on winter nights, homeless, cold, and hungry, one voice gripped my frozen heart: 'Weakness or strength: you exist, that is strength. You don't know where you are going or why you are going, go in everywhere, answer everyone. No one will kill you, any more than if you were a corpse.' In the morning my eyes were so vacant and my face so dead, that the people I met may not even have seen me.

And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down

And the horizon runs away from an eternal flight

Aphrodite’s thirst was never quenched; it was cruel and dreamy. It was certainly the most splendid kind of thirst.

As of today, I rebel against death! Work seems frivolous; I'm a proud man, and a lifetime's work would be too brief an agony for me. At the last moment, I'd attack...to the right...to the left...And then—oh!—sweet old soul of mine, eternity would not have been wasted on us!

Blood was flowing – in Bluebeard’s house, in the abattoirs, in the circuses where God had set his seal to whiten the windows. Blood and Milk flowed together.

But, true, I’ve wept too much! Dawns break hearts.

But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.

By being too sensitive I have wasted my life.

Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.

Doubt, a dreary bird, strikes us with its wing

Every moon is brutal, every sun bitter.

From castles of bone unknown music comes

Genius is the recovery of childhood at will.

how full of flowers the world was that summer! Tunes and forms fading... ––A choir, to calm down impotence and absence! A choir of glass pieces, of nocturnal melodies... Soon, indeed, the nerves will slip their moorings.

I alone have the key to this wild parade.

I am hidden and I am not.

I believe I am in Hell, therefore I am

I could never throw Love out of the window.

I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.

I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; Garlands from window to window; Golden chains from star to star ... And I dance.

I have withered within me all human hope. With every silent leap of a sullen beast, I have downed and strangled every joy. I have called for executioners; I want to perish chewing on their gun butts. I have called for plagues, to suffocate in sand and blood. Unhappiness has been my god. I have lain down in the mud, and dried myself off in the crime-infested air. I have played the fool to the point of madness

I is another.

I ought to have a special hell for my anger, a hell for my pride, – and a hell for sex; a whole symphony of hells!

I saw myself before an infuriated mob, facing the firing squad, weeping out of pity for the evil they could not understand, and forgiving!

I shall ask forgiveness for having fed on lies.

I shed more tears than God could ever have required.

I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.

I understand, and not knowing how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather remain silent

I will tear the veils from every mystery: mysteries of religion or of nature, death, birth, the future, the past, cosmogony, and nothingness. I am a master of phantasmagoria.

I've researched the magic shapes of the happiness no one escapes.

I've seen archipelagos of stars; islands whose feverish skies are spread above the traveller - are these the boundless nights in which you sleep?

In the dawn, armed with a burning patience, we shall enter the splendid Cities

In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.

Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep in exile?

It began as research. I wrote of silences, of nights, I scribbled the indescribable. I tied down the vertigo.

It has been found again. What? – Eternity. It is the sea mingled with the sun

It was the voice of mad seas, roaring immense

Let us desire The nothing of night

Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.

Monkeys of men fallen from the vulva of mothers

my heart, my heart betrayed me!

My wisdom is as spurned as chaos. What is my nothingness, compared to the amazement that awaits you?

O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all

Once, if my memory serves me well, my life was a banquet where every heart revealed itself, where every wine flowed.

One evening I sat Beauty on my knees – And I found her bitter – And I reviled her.

Our pale reason hides the infinite!

Pagan blood returns!

Satan, you clown, you want to dissolve me with your charms. Well, I want it. I want it! Stab me with a pitchfork, sprinkle me with fire!

Self interest exists, attachment based on personal gain exists, complacency exists. But not love. Love has to be reinvented, that’s certain.

Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!

ternity is the sun mixed with the sea

That shattered your infant breast, too soft, too human.

The first study for the man who wants to be a poet is knowledge of himself, complete: he searches for his soul, he inspects it, he puts it to the test, he learns it. As soon as he has learned it, he must cultivate it! I say that one must be a seer, make oneself a seer. The poet becomes a seer through a long, immense, and reasoned derangement of all the senses. All shapes of love suffering, madness. He searches himself, he exhausts all poisons in himself, to keep only the quintessences. Ineffable torture where he needs all his faith, all his superhuman strength, where he becomes among all men the great patient, the great criminal, the great accursed one--and the supreme Scholar! For he reaches the unknown! ....So the poet is actually a thief of Fire!

The flowering sweetness of the stars

The northern lights rise like a kiss to the sea

The poet makes himself a voyant through a long, immense reasoned deranging of all his senses. All the forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he tries to find himself, he exhausts in himself all the poisons, to keep only their quintessences.

The poet, therefore, is truly the thief of fire. He is responsible for humanity, for animals even; he will have to make sure his visions can be smelled, fondled, listened to; if what he brings back from beyond has form, he gives it form; if it has none, he gives it none. A language must be found…of the soul, for the soul and will include everything: perfumes, sounds colors, thought grappling with thought

The storm made bliss of my sea-borne awakenings.

The world progresses! Why shouldn’t it turn as well?

The World will vibrate like an immense lyre In the trembling of an infinite kiss!

These verses believe; they love; they hope; that is all.

They find me odd, and whisper behind hands... And my brutal desires sink hooks into their lips...

They seem to have fallen asleep in some rose-coloured paradise…

This lofty thought proves I dreamt it!

To whom shall I hire myself out? What beast should I adore? What holy image is attacked? What hearts shall I break? What lies shall I uphold? In what blood tread?

True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.

True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.

turn your face towards the lances of rain, the soul towards ancient wisdom

We are overwhelmed with a cloak of ignorance and narrow chimeras

What an old maid I'm getting to be. lacking the courage to be in love with death!

Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? - Through whose blood am I to wade ?

Your strawberry-raspberry taste, your flowery flesh

[insomniaportal]

The Living Dead

I think zombies are some of my favourite creatures. They're pretty cool right? Although it would be terrible, a zombie apocalypse would be very interesting.

The definition of a zombie is a fictional undead being created through the reanimation of a corpse. The most popular way a person can be turned into a zombie is through a bite, even if they are alive.

The Fear Goes Back

Although Haiti is mainly where zombies originated, Ancient Greeks may have been the first to be afraid of the dead rising. Archaeologists found ancient graves which contained skeletons pinned down by rocks, seemingly to prevent them from escaping in the event of reanimation.

A Haitian Origin

The zombie (or Zombi in Haitian French) comes from old Haitian folklore where a zombie is a dead body reanimated using magic or voodoo.

Haiti is very popular for It's voodoo so I could go more into depth with that another time.

The belief is that a Zombi remains under the control of the Bokor (Sorcerer or witch) that resurrected it as a slave, that only lives to serve It's owner. Although there have been cases of 'zombies' escaping.

This drawing isn't very detailed ,although I think the intense darkness is what is so haunting to me. It also includes a non-physical type of zombie called the 'zombie astral', which is part of the human soul. Some Bokors capture this to enhance their spiritual power. They can also sell it sealed in a bottle to bring good luck, healing and success.

These traditions were brought to Haiti by enslaved Africans. It was believed that the deity Baron Samedi (A loa of the dead) would gather them from the grave and take them to a heavenly after life, unless they has offended him which is what would cause them to become a slave after death, as a zombie.

In some communities it is believed a person can be zombified by a small child while in others it is also believed that a witch can zombify a person by killing and possessing the victims body.

The Real Life Zombie That Shocked The World

On May 2, 1962, a Haitian man named Clairvius Narcisse was pronounced dead by two doctors after weeks of a mystery fever. Narcisse's family buried him in a small cemetery near the town of l'Estere. The End. Just kidding. Eighteen years later, in 1980 a man that locals said 'looked dead in the eyes' approached a woman named Angelina (Narcisse's sister) claiming that he was her brother. He explained that he has been resurrected by a witch doctor who enslaved him on a sugar plantation.

Possible Explanations

Locals who believed in voodoo accepted the story, no questions asked. But western scientists were obviously quite sceptical of the story. This story prompted Harvard ethnobotanist, Wade Davis to travel to Haiti. As a result of his investigations he claimed a person can be turned into a zombie by two special powers that have to be introduced into the blood stream. The first 'coup de poudre', includes tetrodotoxin, the powerful and often fatal neurotoxin found in the flesh of the pufferfish. The second consists of deliriant drugs such as datura which can cause, hallucinations, psychosis and sometimes death.

These two powders together could induce a death like state in which the person would be completely submissive to the Bokor. The ingredient most questioned and unethical is part of a recently buried child’s brain which many scientists say has no actual benefit.

Modern Zombie Archetype's evolution

When zombies first appeared in literature, they were described as spirits and ghosts instead of the modern cannibalistic, brain dead monster. The film really known as the first zombie film is the 1932 release of White Zombie by Victor Halperin.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelly, while not necessarily a zombie novel, did help to shape the modern day idea of a zombie. This caused the creation of a zombie to become more scientifically based instead of being a mystical occurrence Modern day zombies usually aren't caused now by something spiritual, instead being created by some kind of virus. The tales of them being so violent and vengeful helped inform the vampire found in European folklore.

In modern fiction zombies have become incredibly popular. They have inspired some amazing games like Resident Evil (My favourite games. If you love video games and horror but haven't played a resident evil game before, you should) and movies like Return Of The Living Dead (An awesome movie)

If you're really afraid of a zombie apocalypse happening then you shouldn't be. Scientists have looked into it and concluded that it just simply wouldn't work But, if you're still scared, there are many zombie survival kits online.

[bookandcranny]

Rely On The Lighthouse Keeper

So once upon a time, the icebergs melted and the sea levels rose and people died and people lived and now there’s a lighthouse standing half-submerged a half mile or so off the shoreline. Charlotte dreams about the lighthouse every night. Not so unusual, since she thinks about it every day.

Every morning she runs the length of the docks where the fishermen call her Lottie. Her legs are long and lean and her sandals go thwap thwap thwap against the saturated wood two planks at a time. She cuts her hands climbing the tide-battered cliffside and eats clams with every meal for want of pearls. Boiled, steamed, fried. She’s trying to turn salt into diamonds between her chipped teeth and so far? Not much luck.

After her morning run, she works the floor of her uncle’s dive shop, pandering to wannabe treasure hunters. 

“All kinds of hidden beauties in the sunken cities, ripe for the picking,” he tells them.

“Whatever hasn’t already been picked dry years ago, or eaten by fish. Treasure hunting is a sucker’s game,” he tells her.

He’s not really her uncle, except in the ways that count. They sell thermo-control, pressure-control wetsuits that only sometimes tear at inopportune moments and gadgets to evade sensors in the places where such activity isn’t strictly legal. Mostly their customers come back with satchels full of scrap, green with age and algae- worthless except to be melted down for raw material. Her uncle drops a few coins into their open palms, subtracting a generous finder’s fee for the equipment, and sends them on their grumbling way. They’ll be back though, because it’s a bad gamble but it’s one they don’t know how to live without, and one big win is all they need to change their lives for good

Suckers though they may be, Charlotte can’t help but feel for them. Something about the way they cycle through fervent hope and resignation in tight circles like a dog chasing its tail, she’d be blind not to see the resemblance. Every kid in this town has the exact same haunted look in their eyes, tailed by the loss of something that died long before they were born. 

For dinner Charlotte boils rice in a thin salinous bone broth until it becomes pale, barely palatable mush that her uncle can press comfortably into the space of his missing teeth. She eats two boiled clams and her own porridge, marginally thicker and with some actual meat in it to make it more resemblant of a meal. They don’t speak very much as they eat, outside of the same old discussions about Charlotte’s education or the future of the shop which resolve without conclusion and will be forgotten by the next time it comes up. Neither one is much for conversation.

Afterwards the girl pours a bath as cold as she can stand and sits and scrubs and fills her lungs. Hold, hold. She can keep in her breath for over two full minutes on a good day, but it’s not good enough. She needs more practice.

Outside her bedroom window the lighthouse beacon blinks in and out of sight as it turns, winking at her where she sits wide awake in bed. She dips into sleep only long enough to get what she needs, and it comes to her in a pool of golden light and promises. Her and those suckers at the shop, they’re just the same, except where they cast about blindly in the ruins she’ll never lose sight.

In the other room she can hear her uncle groaning as he works the heel of his hand against his bad leg, trying to exorcise a memory. For people who live seaside ghosts are as common a problem as bedbugs or radiation poisoning. Everyone has a story, from so-and-so’s brother’s neighbor’s cousin who had a grandfather who died in the first tidal wave that took Long Island and so on and so forth. In most of the stories though, or at least the good ones, it’s women they see. Ghost women bobbing in the surf and dressed only in moonlight. Always naked. Sailors are so predictable.

So the story goes: “The widow of a navy marine. She went half mad when the call came in and fully mad by the time the war was over. When the waves went up she refused to retreat to higher ground, still waiting for her husband to come home. They say she waits to this day.”

So the story goes: “She loved to dance on the beach even though she knew it was forbidden. A healthy young woman in her prime, but died suddenly of a vicious pneumonia. At her autopsy they found a tiny ocean in her lungs, coral reefs growing all up the sides and freckled with starfish. Real coral, can you imagine?”

So the story goes: “Their daughters were possessed by a longing for the world that was. When at last it was more than they could take, they met under a red moon one night and threw themselves from the cliffs in despair.”

So it goes. In another month Charlotte can hold her breath for almost three minutes. Soon it’ll be four. The rising bubbles tickle her cheeks as she breathes out. Clams every day, still no pearls. Her hair is growing long now and on rainy days it slaps her back and shoulders as she runs. 

A season of fishermen return to the docks while another sets sail and they don’t recognize her there anymore. She’s not Lottie to them but “that girl”. They make jokes to mask their unease. They say she runs like she has the devil on her heels. She knows though, she knows the devil doesn’t chase. He waits.

He waits for her to get slow, to take her eyes off the horizon. She’s seen it happen. As she gets older it’ll get harder to dream except for of her next spot of luck, a good business quarter or a diver with a rare bounty, and her treasure will slip away from her. The devil is a man o’ war, the devil is the scar that streaks diagonal down an old man’s calf as he tells tales of days when sharks swam the seas in great numbers, the devil is a lazy trawling net caught in a propeller. If she waits, someday she won’t wonder who lights the abandoned lighthouse at night. Someday she might not notice it at all. Just another part of the scenery like craggy cliffs and sunken skylines and the gates. 

“The devil is a tall iron gate,” she mutters, disinfecting her scraped palms.

“That’s a new one,” her uncle says. “And I’m pretty sure those gates aren’t made of iron. Would rust, wouldn’t it?”

“Iron sounds more,” She casts about for the right word. “Epic.”

He laughs and his laugh is the only thing still completely dry in this shop. Then he says, “You could be a real writer if you put in the time. Didja give anymore thought to going back to school?” And the conversation is over.

The devil is the slow broadening of her hips. Three minutes and forty six seconds until she can’t take the burn anymore, but instead of resurfacing she sucks in an involuntary lungful and comes up retching. More clams come up, and a yellow starfish smaller than her pinky nail. 

There’s a medicine woman in a shop a few doors down who claims a paste made from dry-earth roots will expand the chest and bellows. It can’t be any worse than pinching crawlies from the bait-box. What she really needs though is a remedy no one’s given her yet. She needs a cure for time.

Another few months and she can run from one end of the docks to the other in sixty six identical strides. Before she so much as hits the docks her legs are shooting out to the bow and stem of her like a dancer. Meanwhile her uncle can barely walk anymore. She isn’t ready to go.

The fog is so constant, so oppressive now that the lighthouse shines not just at night but throughout the day. From sat upon the cliffs she times her blinks in rhythm with the beacon and looks out on the waves, for ghosts, or just for a sign. 

For five minutes this time she quiets the hurting part, the signal that burns bright and angry, and focuses on the chill of the water engulfing her. 

In a year not quite to the day, while preparing dinner, she cracks open a particularly stubborn shell to find a lumpy pearl bigger than her goddamn knuckle. She leaves the pearl at her uncle’s bedside while he’s sleeping, paralleling nicely the way her mother left her once upon his doorstep, though she can’t know this. In the morning the dockworkers see a girl- a young woman they used to call Lottie, sprinting along the boardwalk so fast that she seems not to touch the ground. It’s another gray day, misty and magical, and when they tell this story to their mothers’ good friends’ nephews she will be naked with skin made of gold and ambergris.

She dances the length of the boardwalk and down to the wire fence surrounding the bivalvarium and without breaking stride she begins to climb. Right up and over, planting herself in the sand with a muddy thunk, one foot sailing in front of the other over rocks and ridges and into the chaste waters where fishermen and treasure seekers alike are forbidden. The oysters buried in the earth are singing, chattering their shells like castanets. The coastguard siren sings its angry song too. With no time to spend languishing on the beach, she wades on and begins to swim.

The current doesn’t welcome her, but she wouldn’t expect anything less. The state tried to make her go to a nice inland school once and it felt a little like this. The resistance isn’t anything personal, it’s just how it is. 

“Go back where you belong, land-walker,” it says. “There’s nothing here for you but heartache.” But stroke by stroke she insists herself upon it. Somewhere someone is screaming from the shore. Whether in excitement or recrimination, Charlotte can’t hear any of them now.

Hand over hand, out of the surf and then in again. As she approaches her destination, squinting against the salt in her eyes, she breaches a final time and then nosedives to the bottom. Five minutes. The tide and the air trapped in her ballooned lungs try to buoy her back to the surface so she activates the weighted bracelets filched from the shop. They’re tricky little trinkets, only used by the more experienced or reckless divers. Once they’re cracked a chemical reaction within the donut-shaped shell makes them heavy as anchors, giving the wearer an extra bit of depth but also limiting their movement. Charlotte had her reservations about them, and still does, but right now they get her just where she needs to be.

At the base of the sunken lighthouse there’s a crack. An ordinary crack, worked open naturally by the years and the pressure. It’s down deep though and the point of entry is small. An adult burdened with lots of heavy diving equipment couldn’t fit. She squeezes in, scraped raw on all sides, struggling to release the clasps on the weights when they get her stuck in the gap. 

She’s all through but her ankle now. Two minutes of air left by her rough estimation and she still needs to make it back to the surface. Panic will eat up her air faster. She knows this, she knows. She grabs one of the bracelets and hammers it against the stone until she breaks free. A small burst of blood halos her ankle as she races for the faint light above her, winking at her in a rhythm she knows so well.

There is movement in the ocean around her. Big flat-bodied fish? Monstrous mutant eels perhaps? Or ghosts. So the story goes.

She swims up and breaks through and her ears are ringing. Only now does she let herself feel the cold and the ache in her lungs and the throbbing of her muscles, and she wails like a newborn, her cries echoing to the heavens. She’s survived, and the surviving is an agony unlike anything she’s ever known, ever could have anticipated. The collision of the dream and the reality is less breaking a fever and more hurtling through a pane of glass.

“Well that was dramatic,” say the ghosts. They do indeed look like women, although they have clothes fashioned from layers of seaweed and rubbery fish skins so thick Charlotte can’t tell where it ends and they begin. Their bodies are thin but only in the way flounders are. They twist and writhe like a child’s lost ribbon floating in the tide. One sniffs and touches her wounded ankle curiously as she floats, and she doesn’t feel much like a ghost at all. She feels as plain to her as fish porridge.

So the ghosts who are not ghosts swim her over to a ledge, where the water laps upon the stair. Their ribbon tails shimmy back and forth in hypnotic rhythm and when the pale light shines upon them they glisten like jelly. Charlotte doesn’t know it but sailors didn’t always just tell stories about ghosts. It’s just that tall tales lose some of their zest once they come true.

“Since you’re here I guess you’ll be staying,” says one gilly girl, not cruelly but not kindly either. “You might as well get comfy.”

Another, smaller than the first with a bob of inky hair matted to her cheeks, tugs shyly at the hem of her top. “Did you bring anything fun with you? Oh, do you have any movies? We found a VCR the other day in the old houses.”

“It won’t work.”

“You don’t know that. I want to watch movies again. I miss having new stories.”

“Do you know my brother? He’s a bivalve farmer back on the cape. Unless he isn’t anymore. It has been a while since I saw him.”

“Is the president still a prick? I promised myself I wouldn’t be coming back until there was someone with half a brain in office. Oh hey remind me, what year is it now?”

“I have a blockbuster card in my purse! You can use it if you bring back some movies.”

Two of the girls begin to drum up a chant of, “Moo-vies! Moo-vies!” Charlotte just sits and stares.

A different one swims up to her, shooing away the clinging creatures who poke and prod and inspect her person. Her features are long and angular, more mature to Charlotte’s reckoning, not knowing how meaningless the term is here. Like describing the maturity of a fossil or an insect petrified in amber.

“Ignore them, they’re just excited,” she says. There is something moving behind her dark eyes, flitting about like a school of minnows, yet her expression is peaceful. 

Charlotte, finding her voice, asks, “Are you the guardians of the treasure?”

She cocks her head. “Treasure?”

“Yes, the- the treasure!” she struggles to explain. “I dream about it every night. Treasure from the old world, a golden light, guarded by the lighthouse keeper…”

“You’re in shock, dear. You look pale. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Who’s in charge here?”

“No one is. We’re a self governing body of-”

”Who lights the lighthouse?” she demands, ignoring the fish-woman’s protests. She braces her hands on the slick stone wall and pulls herself up. “Someone must light the lighthouse, but none of you have legs. None of you can climb the stairs. So who lights the lighthouse?”

“Oh, silly girl,” the not-ghosts not-fish not-women fawn. “You do.”

So much love in their eyes. So much love living behind them, wriggling in the shiny shells of their bodies like happy mollusks.

Charlotte’s legs feel weak. The elder mermaid touches the back of her knee gently, comfortingly. When, she wondered, had anyone last touched the back of her knee, of all places. She nods up towards the stairs which spiral skywards in the shape of a conch’s crown.

“Would you like to see?"

So once upon a time, a girl chased a dream to the edge of her world and in consequence fell off of it. Not the worst outcome. Not for Charlotte, who was just one girl against a great big ocean of trouble after all. And still the sea levels rise, and still the lighthouse lantern turns around and around, reliably guiding home ships full of sailors who tell all sorts of old stories and know well enough not to try and see them through to their ends.

[secret-engima]

AUW ask! Any Wren Getting herself in over her head bits of pieces? Just- generally anything Suitably Fairy Tail Dramatic with Wren, and the Guild's PROTECT response with Team Mom please?

hgdghgfd great ask now if I can just get my brain to work and think of some answers....

Imma time-skip a bit and make this when Wren is .... 13. That makes Mest 21, Laxus 20, Bickslow 19, Evergreen and Freed 17, and Cana 15.

-So. Here’s the thing about Fairy Tail.

-Fairy Tail might be known to accept just about anybody, from any walk of life or background, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have STANDARDS.

-That doesn’t mean that breaking those standards don’t have Really Bad Consequences to whatever soul comes in looking to cause trouble.

-Wren is usually good at staying out of trouble (despite major incidents like the AoT arc when she was younger and the other things that have happened since then). She’s also really good at staying out of trouble in the guild hall. But sometimes ...

-Sometimes trouble finds her.

-It starts out a normal enough day. Get up, chat with the Raijinshū, go down to the guild hall with everybody to look for a job or just hang out.

-They get to the guild hall, and it’s fairly busy. Wren spots the new member that joined up about three days ago near the job request board, but doesn’t think anything of it. She doesn’t recognize him from the anime, but he could’ve just been a background character, and while he strikes her as ... arrogant and violent prone, Gajeel in canon was both of those things, and it isn’t like a guild that gets into a brawl almost every day can be considered “non-violent” anyway.

-It’s Wren’s turn to go up to the request board and snag a job for the Raijinshū, and she nods politely to the new member, who smiles a little too sharply at her and nods back. Wren, not wanting to get into conversation with the new guy and waste the morning when she’s probably going to have to travel a ways for whatever job she picks, Wren proceeds to focus on the request board and ignore him.

-She also rolls her eyes and ignores the guild brawl that breaks out behind her as well, only keeping her senses trained behind her enough to track if someone flings a chair her way or something.

-She isn’t watching her flank, where the new member is standing.

-So busy reading a job poster and keeping an ear on the brawl behind her, she doesn’t have time to register and dodge the kick that comes from the side.

-The roundhouse kick slams into her stomach hard enough she hears at least two of her ribs crack, feels the wind get knocked out of her as she is propelled across the room and into the far wall almost as fast as one of her shadow teleports. The world goes bright and sparkly with pain in her stomach and ribs and back and head and even if she’d had a functioning voice, she wouldn’t have had enough air to scream in pain when her body peels free from the dented wall and hits the floor with jarring (agonizing) thud.

-Beyond the ringing in her ears, the guild hall has never sounded so silent.

-She registers someone landing next to her, glimpses a foot cocking back for another kick past the swirling colors in her vision, then feels the entire guild hall erupt around her.

-Thunder shakes her bones (it-hurts-it-hurts-) as Laxus crashes into whoever just landed beside her (the new member, he attacked her, why-why-why) and she can faintly hear Bickslow’s tikis shrieking nearby. Wren struggles to get up (she’s fought through worse, suffered worse, it’s just the unexpectedness of it, the fact it happened in one of her safe spaces, her home that makes it so hard to think and move past), feels too-warm hands grab her shoulders and pull her close. She wheezes a bit at the feeling, glances up and is dizzily confused to see Natsu holding her, the young teenager wrapping his arms protectively around her, his focus more on where the Raijinshū and the rest of the guild are mobbing than on her, his pupils slitted and teeth inhumanly sharp as he snarls deep and bass in a way that Wren can feel prickling her skin with restrained (barely) fire.

-Laxus is shaking the new member, roaring in his face with eyes that glow bright gold while the rest of the guild essentially tries to be the next in line to murder him without getting too close to the lightning Laxus is giving off. Wren thinks Levy has run to get the Master from upstairs because she can’t see the bluenette in the crush of shouting and fists and angry, seething magic.

-Her hearing is back, but it’s hard to tell what anyone is saying when they’re all talking over each other. Erza is there with a sword, standing between Wren in Natsu’s arms and the new member even though there’s no way he’d be able to get past the rest of the guild hall at this point.

-She thinks she hears the new member (not for long) protest that he was just joining in the brawl. After all, everyone here fights all the time, it isn’t his fault is Wren is just a wimp who can’t take a hit.

-She watches, dazed for reasons she can’t quite place, as Freed bodily rips the man out of Laxus’s grip, heedless of the lightning that singes his clothes, and punches the man’s teeth in.

-The Master arrives before the murder can really start, has to wade in using his Giant Magic just to get the guild to settle and let him see what has happened. Then he takes one look at Wren and her stuttering (painful) breathing and the new member (not anymore) spitting teeth while Freed stands there with split knuckles and Master Makarov’s magical pressure makes the building physically shake.

-In a very quiet voice, he orders Mest to teleport Wren to Porlyusica. Wren spends three days in Porlyusica’s care, getting her ribs treated and her healing enhanced with herbal remedies that actually don’t taste too horrible while the literal entire guild take turns keeping watch (there’s always at least one Raijinshū member, but Erza, Natsu, Gray, Pauz, and so many others all stop in and linger for minutes on end until Porlyusica throws them out. None of them will tell her what happened to the guy who kicked her, though she knows it’s a given he was kicked out of the guild. The daily brawl was one thing, bruises and a few minor scratches were stupid common in that, but breaking bones? Then chasing her down for another hit? Not acceptable.

-What Wren doesn’t know was that Makarov just about gave the man a heart attack through sheer magical pressure while Laxus paced and snarled for blood like the dragon he usually pretended he wasn’t. That Makarov had ripped the man’s guild mark away and bodily thrown him out of the guild with the warning to never come back to Magnolia. Ever.

-She doesn’t know that the guild essentially chased him to the borders of Magnolia, or that for literal months (probably closer to a year) after that, if any of them saw the man while out on a job, they would they would, at best, radiate killing intent his way. The more violent members of the guild (read: Natsu, Gray, Bickslow) would use their magic to cause trouble (Natsu maybe was too sloppy with his fire roar on purpose, Gray maybe made an “accidental” blizzard down that one street the man was on and Bickslow’s tikis maybe “accidentally” cut through an awning with their lasers that then fell on the man and tangled him up for several minutes.

-Is it petty? Yes. They all know this. They all acknowledge it. Do they stop? .... eventually. When the man, years later and well after their petty revenge has stopped (because angry as they are they aren’t cruel), crops up as a member of Raven Tail, do they immediately and gleefully take the opportunity to kick him around in the way Makarov didn’t let them all those years ago? As well as teach Gajeel, arguably the guild’s most petty and violence-prone member to do the same just through observation?

-A b s o l u t e l y.

-Wren is a capable mage in her own right, strong in her own right, and compared to some of them gets into far less trouble. It’s her self-imposed job to help out the guild, keep the more reckless ones in line, and yes, Team Mom basically everything that breathes and wears Fairy Tail’s mark. But when trouble does come and find her, no matter how capable she might be of handling it herself, the guild will go feral for her.

-The guild will always go crazy for it’s own. Any of it’s own. This is a given, proven fact. But with Wren ... it’s a bit different. She’s basically their self-control and restraint. Even if she isn’t there, the members remember her rules and tend to follow them (most of the time). So if she is the one hurt? The one to go down? Especially in a place where she should have been safe?

-All the attacker has done is single-handedly taken out the guild’s restraint and removed any chance of getting their mercy.

(hope this is what you had in mind, Wolf!)

[walkthegale]

Femslash Exchange 2020

( This letter is also on Dreamwidth. )

Dear Femslash Exchange Creator,

You are awesome! Thank you so much for offering one of my requested fandoms! :D

I’ve put in some guidelines about things below, but I am excited to read whatever you feel inspired to write!

I like: hurt/comfort (physical or emotional), smut/pwp, bondage, consensual power play, hair pulling, sex magic, fluff, cuddling, competence, polyamory, adventures, horror, character studies, missing scenes, first times, established relationships, adrenaline-fueled kisses/sex, chosen/found families, canon divergent au, lots of tropes, subverted tropes, fake dating, only one bed, huddling for warmth, trapped together, loyalty, mutual requited pining, mutual support, lots of feelings. Any rating is good!

I do not like: character or ship bashing, noncon, dubcon, scat, watersports, a/b/o, high school au, college au, kidfic, soulmate tropes, heteronormative relationship progression as default.

Bad Girls (TV)

Helen Stewart/Nikki Wade

They are the formative pairing of my heart and soul. I’d love some good angsty hurt/comfort or a missing scene or some smut from during the show, or I’d love to know more about what they get up to afterwards and how their relationship changes and develops in their new circumstances.

The Bletchley Circle

Millie Harcourt/Jean McBrian

I love both original Bletchley, and San Francisco, so either setting is great! I just adore that these two are both so brilliant and so brave and so good at what they've chosen to do, and so endlessly caring and supportive of each other. I love they way they look at each other - all the flirting and tension. I'd love to see a story about how they got together, but I'd also love an adventure or fun trope or emotional moment set during an established relationship.

Call of Cthulhu: Shadow of the Crystal Palace (Web Series)

Hanako Hayashi/Alexandra Elise O'Neill

I'd love to see these two dealing with the trauma of what happened together, potentially through sex. What they do or where they go afterwards - do they stay together, or do they part and perhaps meet by accident in the future? Alternatively, I love the implication that they have a past - what's that all about and what happened between them?

Jurassic Park - All Media Types

Kelly Malcolm/Lex Murphy, Claire Dearing/Kelly Malcolm/Lex Murphy, Sarah Harding/Ellie Sattler

Essentially I want to know the ways any of these women bond over their survival, trauma and/or general shared experiences. I want them to find joy in each other. If you want to put them back into situations with dinosaurs, that's also awesome, but don't feel like you have to!

Teachers (UK TV)

Susan Gately/Jenny Paige

These two are both so much better than any of the other people around them. I just want them to be happy, damn it. I headcanon that they left together at the end of season 2. I’m very much here for either missing scene stuff with them, stuff about how they got together or how they navigate their relationship whilst still at Summerdown, or for stuff about what they went on to do and have afterwards.

Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold

Cordelia Naismith Vorkosigan/Alys Vorpatril

ANYTHING for these two. I feel like there’s so much to explore in the time between Barrayar and Warrior’s Apprentice, with Cordelia making her life on Barrayar and becoming the who she is by the time Miles is an adult, and I would love to see some of what goes on between her and Alys during that time and the ways they support and learn from each other. I would also though love to see Cordelia and Alys once they’re both older and their children grown - continuing to deal with life together, or escaping from it together for a bit, or something. And all with Cordelia’s Betan values about polyamory - no issues in her relationship with Aral, please!

[ourbrokeninsanity]

Hulk/Reader SFW and NSFW Headcanons

Hulk is my bae. I spend too much time thinking about this so decided to share. No idea if these are any good or if anyone other than me even wants this but *shrugs*

SFW aka Hulk is a gift

Hulk is a tactile guy. If you’re ok with it, he tends to touch you a lot - a hand on your shoulder, an affectionate back pat, hugs, have you sitting in his lap or on his shoulder like an pirate’s parrot. It’s a way for him to show you affection, but also he just enjoys non-harmful touching - it’s a reminder to you but mostly himself that he can, in fact, touch people without hurting them. If you reciprocate, he’s over the moon. 

So, yeah, you’re probably going to spend a lot of time in his arms. Which is pretty great, as Hulk is warm and surprisingly cosy.

Dates tend to be non-traditional - very little going out to the movies or to a restaurant here, people just don’t react well and everything is tense and no fun. You don’t mind much, the two of you find other ways to have fun. Movie nights at home in comfy clothes with loads of snacks - what could be better? Other date ideas include: playing pranks on the other Avengers/Smashers, helping him train (ie Hulk showing off his strength for you), cooking together (Hulk is fond of spicy food - he is technically from New Mexico after all, and he is always happy to eat the evidence of botched recipes. Also he is the best at kneading bread. If a recipe calls for an ingredient to be smashed he is on it, which becomes an inside joke.)

Hulk isn’t the most eloquent guy, but he’s serious about relationship negotiation. Hulk is very aware of just how much bigger and stronger he is compared to you and how the outside world would view your relationship - he needs to know that he isn’t pushing your boundaries or making you uncomfortable. If you’re willing to initiate these conversations or help him clarify his viewpoint he’s grateful - he appreciates that you understand how important this is to him.

He is protective, sometimes very protective. He’ll let you fight your own battles but he is always going to be watching, ready to wade in if he has to/you ask him to. Frankly, anyone who messes with you is on his ‘to be smashed’ list. If someone, anyone, actually hurts you (especially physically - he has the same reaction to emotional hurt but is aware that smashing isn’t always the best response here - especially if the perpetrator is a friend or relative) then they’re getting smashed. Hard. He will then stick to your side like glue, offering affection, protection, comfort and reassurance until you bat him away. This applies whether you are a superhero yourself or not.

Hulk is super supportive. He’s great to vent to, able to offer supportive silence with affirming noises and/or increasingly ridiculous and violent smash offers depending on the subject of the ranting. You try not to do so too much, aware that Hulk has enough anger issues himself, no matter how well controlled. He supports your hobbies, even if he doesn’t understand them. He may not be the most vocal cheerleader, but you know that he supports you. Really enjoys watching you do/talk about the things you’re passionate about, he finds it really sweet. He also trusts you with his hobbies - you are the one person trusted with The Zoo (also he absolutely has a figurine of you, made after he introduced you to Glorian. It’s one of his favourites. You blush when you see it).

You will fight anybody who calls Hulk a monster or a beast. Hulk will try and pull you away, but inside he is super touched. Also, he admires your left hook - for such a small person you’re a pretty effective smasher. You also get annoyed when the other Avengers treat Hulk like smashing is all he is good at - you see a side of Hulk that not many others are aware of but you insist that it’s there to see, if people bothered.

He has quite a few nicknames for you: Tiny (no matter your size you are tiny to him, Little Smash(er), Pretty Girl/Boy/One (when he’s feeling playful or wants to see you blush).

Hulk is rather protective, and proud, of the fact that you’re his s/o. Not Banner’s, his. He cared about Betty, but she loved Bruce over Hulk, and really only loved Hulk as an extension of Bruce. You, on the other hand, care and love Hulk as his own person. That means the world to him. He repays you by seeing you as you are and loving the real you, rather than what others try to paint you as. Basically, Hulk is a literal gift and you don’t understand why the world can’t see that.

NSFW (such sin, but good sin)

I personally headcanon Hulk as demisexual. As such, you’ve been together for quite a while before sexual stuff gets broached. He just notices one day that he’s attracted to you, and is honestly a little mind-boggled; when did you become so sexy???? It takes him a little time to get used to. For a little while pretty much everything you do turns him on a little and he gets all flustered. He’s very glad that his thick green skin means that his blush isn’t very noticeable. 

Hulk doesn’t really have a preference for physical characteristics on a partner. Rather adorably though, once you’re together and he starts noticing you sexually, he tends to notice people who have your traits more, simply because they remind him of you. Not that he becomes attracted to them, he just notices certain traits that match or nearly match yours. 

So much negotiation. Hulk is so worried about hurting you, it takes a lot of discussion and reassurance from you before he’s ready to do much more than kiss you. For this reason, you initiate pretty much all sexy times at first. Eventually he becomes confident enough in himself and his knowledge of you (your body, your boundaries) to initiate.

Because of the huge amount of discussions, your sex life is a slow build thing, which just heightens your anticipation. Like pretty much all aspects of your relationship it’s non-traditional, based not on societal expectations but on what feels good and comfortable to you both. Because of this it is very, very good. You realise you may be spoiled and now ruined for any future sexual relationships, Hulk takes such good care of you.

You tend to be on top. It makes the size difference easier to manage, and lets Hulk relax a little. He’s not going to fall on you or accidentally crush you. You approve of anything that lets Hulk relax. 

Hulk is a gentle and enthusiastic lover. He is super responsive to you and enjoys instruction. Tell him what you like, guide him, beg him and just watch him light up as he gets to it. It is quite possible that your first sexual foray started out as a make-out session where you pointed out how much you like his size (”your forearms are works of art, big guy. I could get off against that wrist.”) where you precede to do just that. Hulk has a Thing about you masturbating on him, whether that’s you fingering yourself/jacking off whist you’re sat on his lap or humping his arm/thigh. 

Unless you have some shapeshifting/sizeshifting/magic of some sort, penile penetration just isn’t going to be a thing, he’s far too big. Frottage is a large part of your sexual repertoire - but as you will smugly tell anyone who asks, penetration is over-rated. Hulk does not find this at all frustrating - he’d never want to do something that would risk harming you. Also his focus is on making you feel good over making you cum/orgasm - and it’s really nice that he takes the pressure off (especially if you’re female-bodied).

The absolute king of oral (fight me on this). Hulk loves going down on you, absolutely loves it. It turns him on (loves the smell and taste of you, and the noises you make, yes, give him more) and soothes his ego - see he isn’t just a monster he is also a beast in the bedroom who can make you sound like that. Whether you’re on your back or riding his face he loves it. He will totally sling your legs over his shoulders and effortlessly hold you up as he goes down on you - oral sex + showing off his strength = win. Sexual episodes where he doesn’t go down on you at some point are pretty rare, honestly. You learn some tricks to reciprocate but Hulk honestly prefers giving over receiving. He gets of on getting you off.

Also the king of making out, once you get used to the size difference (honestly you are starting to realise you may have a size kink). Lying on him, mouths locked together, scraping your nails against his scalp as you grind down on his bulk = the best way to spend a lazy afternoon. 10/10.

His fingers are the same size of other guys dicks. Do with this information what you will. 

Hulk lowkey has a praise kink. He doesn’t accept a lot of praise outside the bedroom but you notice that once you’re getting down and dirty he just soaks it up, so you keep giving it to him. Tell him how good he’s doing and he just gets even more enthusiastic.

He also likes some sensation play, which you figure out after witnessing his reaction to you wearing velvet. This leads to you incorporating different fabrics and textures in the bedroom - Hulk is pretty open to experimentation (your whole relationship has been pretty experimental really, figuring out what you both want and can give each other) as long as he doesn’t feel like an experiment and it doesn’t risk hurting you). Velvet is a favourite of his. 

He enjoys bathing with you. Showers can be a little awkward as he’s so much bigger, but if you have a tub large enough he’s pretty much always down to bathe with you. He loves the warm water and skin contact. He’s very relaxed and playful in the bath. Will both splash you and wash your back. Great bath buddy.

Hulk lowkey enjoys feeling you struggle against his strength. He’s not consciously aware of this, and would likely be horrified if he was - it screams harmful dominance, monster, to him because of his experiences. You are aware of it. And enjoy it. You know him using one hand to hold to hold your hips still as he gets you off (so you don’t get carried away and hurt yourself, he justifies) and enjoying the feel of you writhing and bucking against it, is a whole world away from forcing someone down to hurt them.