#char: grant ward

[thedarknesssings]

Nothing Personal

Character: Smoke. Content Warning: Murder.

The shadows stretched long in the glow of the streetlamps.  The wind brushed past his cheek, sending the flames in the gas lamps to dancing.  The bluster granted him an opportunity to advance unnoticed by the well-dressed man ahead of him.  From opera to tavern to brothel, the changes of scenery shouldn’t have surprised Smoke in the least.  Not the first piece of pompous shit he’d been assigned to.  Not that he cared who they were or what they did in life.  He only cared what they did for him once gone.

The man paused in the well of light cast by a street lamp.  The burst of flame startled Smoke back, forcing him to squint while he watched the man light up a cigarillo.  The scent of the smoke was woody and almost pleasant.  

Not here, not yet.  Keep going.  

The man shook the match out then tossed it to the ground, the charred bit of stick lost in the snow lining the street.  A few puffs of smoke and a glance around him paid, the man finally moved on.  Past the soft glowing lights of a bookshop, past the bodies shivering together in the icy streets with no where else to go and not a single glance paid them.  

Here.

In the desolate side streets of the Brume where those that might see will never care about what happens to another rich man.  

Smoke leapt upward, hand grasping onto a jutting brick and then another.  He hauled himself up onto a small balcony overlooking the slender street below.  The dimness of the quarter helped his cause.  No one bothered with lights in door wells here and kept their shutters closed to ward out the cold of the night.  He slid his rifle out of its case. Smoke needed mere seconds to assemble the sleek looking gun, screw the silencer into place, and slip in the bullets.  

Perfect.

The man hummed as he walked, one of the songs from the opera earlier in the night.  His walking cane swung in his hand, clearly for show and no actual need for it.  A weaving wisp of smoke rose from the end of his cigarillo, flavouring the night air.  His fur-lined coat hugged his figure, belted in place with a large silver buckle over a warm, rounded belly.

Never the wiser to the sniper tracking his moves down the line of his rifle.  

The sound of the gun was muffled when Smoke pulled the trigger.  The bullet soared home with precision in the back of the man’s head.  For a few breaths, Smoke lingered, eyes trained down the barrel of his gun, waiting.  The man paused, teetered briefly then collapsed into the snow bank.  Crimson flowed from the back of his head and darkened the white and ice around him.  His soon frozen body would be a grisly find for the guard later.

The gun lowered finally, and Smoke’s hands made short work of disassembling the rifle.  He tucked the pieces away in the case then slung it over his shoulder and head, the strap secure against his chest.  One more glance toward the alley, and he swung over the balcony onto some nearby scaffolding.  Word of this would leak out to the right sources and by morning, he could collect his pay.

[chaoticunorigionalstranger]

BoM - 7.10.23 - Evening - first thoughts on the 2023-2024 cast

Principle cast in the photo

Charlie Barnard (Schrieder), Jed Hoyle (Poptarts), Brian O'Muiri (Neeley), George Littell (Davis), Issac J Lewis (Church), Jack McNeill (Michaels), Kirk Patterson, Char Barnett, Shak Mancel James, Niyah Nish, Dionne Ward Anderson, Chris Copeland (swing), Paige Miller.

NB- Female Ugandan roles appear to have been modified to accomdate Paige Miller's pregnancy,

Elder Price

• Played as a spoilt 19yo who is severely out of his depth.

• He has an air of fake confidence about himself throughout, and even when he speaks assertively his facial expressions show uncertainty.

• At points he acts very whingy, reinforcing his immaturity and him being out of his depth. This was particularly noticable in the scene at the cafe and in SMHD.

Elder Cunninngham (stand by)

• Is not a skinny nor a fat man, but is dressed in clothes a few sizes too big. Unless they were trying to make him look bad, whatever they were going for didn't work.

• A bit camp at points, for example with the air in man up.

Delivers some lines spoken instead of sung. Clearly a choice and done appears to have been done for comedic effect.

Nabs

• Portrayed quite young and awkward.

• Her behaviour around the Elders, especially Cunningham, is awkward until We Are Africa.

• In Sal Lay Reprise she is annoyed before she cries.

McKinley

• VERY camp

• He is very expressive in his physical acting, and his facial expressions show fear over his camp behaviour

• In TIO during the "being gay" he points and looks squarely at Price (who looks wide eyed and horrified) and then points to Cunningham for "lying is worse. He also runs his hand down his chest to his crouch.

• Maroni is also camp.

Elder Grant/Church

• Very facially expressive.

• In Hello he gets right into Prices' face.

• In the airport scene he had to be led away by Mr Cunningham and hid her head.in his side as she sobbed

Doctor Gotswana

• Practically chased after Price when he said "can you help?"

Mission President/Joseph Smith/Jesus in SMHD

• Pissed off as the MP, Nand shouty. His facial expression at the end of the pageant was sheer disgust towards the Elders.

• Joseph Smith was a bit camp.

• Jesus in SMHD was disgusted with Price and looked at him like he was dirt on the bottom of his shoe

Other

Chris Copeland molested Jack McNiell during the pageant scene, and then gave the MP a lap dance.

Ensemble numbers were very methodical from new cast members, but that's to be expected as this was ony show seven.of the new cast

[imnotawitch]

So I’m a bit of a psychopath when it comes to finishing things I like because I desperately don’t want them to end. So I read like 99% of this story in one weekend a couple of months ago, and then stopped near the end because I didn’t want to finish it, purely because it’s genuinely my favorite fic and I didn’t want it to be over. Anyway, I have thought about it everyday since and finally told myself i need to finish it. So I did, and yea, this is #1 for me. Everything about it is so good, the writing, the detail, the dynamic, ugh I love itttt.

Also I’m so disappointed in myself that I didn’t realize Grant was GRANT WARD until Steve said he was arrested. Idk why I kept picturing this nasty looking man even though he was described as attractive. Must’ve been his personality 😅

Anygays, Char - @hopelesslygaysstuff thank you for this masterpiece. Your writing is unreal 💙

For anyone that hasn’t read this yet. DO IT. DO IT NOWWWW

P.S. I’m low key happy I waited this long to finish it because now I can reread it without remembering all the itty bitty details 🥰

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: the team debriefs, wanda and y/n have a much needed talk, and then they fuck!! yayyyyy ◡̈

content warnings: fingering, cunnilingus, use of the word mommy, mention of murder

A/N: this is the final chapter of this series!! thank you for coming along with me for this story, i appreciate all the support!! <3

word count: 5.2k

Series Masterlist

The plane was silent as Fury took his place near the center of the room, turning in a slow circle as he ran a critical eye over his team. His eyes lingered on y/n, and he stared at Wanda just long enough to make the silence uncomfortable before moving on. After a few long seconds, he nodded at Steve, who leaned forward in his seat as he spoke. 

“Grant Ward has been arrested and taken to The Raft,” He began, his face seemingly made of stone as he recalled the events of the night. “We now have a copy of their entire database, which Bruce and Tony will work on once we arrive home. The virus was successful, and their entire database and communications have been wiped thanks to y/n. The U.S military is currently working on clearing the facility out, and returning the victims to their families.��

The mood of the plane dimmed slightly as they took a moment of silence, remembering the terrifying underlying operations of that facility. Wanda shifted slightly in her seat, her eyes blazing as she realized what Steve meant. Y/n squeezed her hand, and green eyes found hers as they softened slightly. 

“I know it’s upsetting, but we helped a lot of victims today. I assume you weren’t aware of what happened at that facility?” Y/n asked, sending her thoughts in Wanda’s direction. The woman’s hand gripped her tighter as she worked her jaw. 

“No, I didn’t know. I thought Grant was the only problem. It’s absolutely disgusting that someone would…” Wanda trailed off, her eyes angry once again as she took a deep breath, relaxing her grip slightly as she pushed down the waves of magic that threatened to escape her firm control. 

Y/n took a quick glance around, the entire team was focused on Steve’s detailed report of the mission. She leaned fully into Wanda’s side, taking the woman by surprise as she grabbed the woman's hand and set it around her waist. Wanda’s shaking fingers gripped the fabric of y/n’s sweater as she stared down in confusion, her previous anger dimming. 

“I’ve noticed that physical touch calms you down.” Y/n thought, leaning her head against Wanda’s shoulder gently. The fingers around her waist started tracing nonsensical patterns as she felt Wanda let out a small huff of laughter. 

“Very observant, I’m glad you paid attention to my lessons.” Wanda sent back, smiling slightly as she turned her face into y/n’s hair. Placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head, Wanda turned her attention back to the mission debrief. 

Tony had stood up at some point, and was projecting a map of the facility onto a screen. He was pointing to various exit points and listing the names of high ranking members of the facility they’d captured. As he spoke, y/n placed a gentle hand on Wanda’s thigh and started tracing her fingers lightly over the smooth fabric. They listened, Wanda slowly turning her attention to each Avenger as she observed them, and y/n spacing out as her eyes grew tired. All she wanted to do was fully lean into Wanda’s warmth, and rest her eyes. Just for a little bit. 

A small break wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Y/n.” A hand pinched her waist, and y/n shot up. With wide eyes, she looked around dazedly at her smirking team members. Fury raised his eyebrows, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he repeated his question. 

“If you could just recount what happened on your end of things, then we can all settle in for the flight home.” Fury said, and y/n flushed as her mind raced in an attempt to recall her experience. 

Clearing her throat, she relaxed back into Wanda’s side. “I managed to get Ward’s attention using some techniques I learned from my mentor,” She nodded at Wanda briefly. “He took me up to his office and then left, I assume because of something you all did?”

Tony nodded sheepishly, and Natasha patted him on the knee as he muttered something about a rocket dysfunction and fixing his suit. Y/n smiled at them, before continuing. “I managed to get a copy of the database before he came back, which is why it took a few minutes in between each flash drive. But, Wanda had ensured that his suspicions were elsewhere before he returned.” 

As she said that last part, y/n observed her team as they looked at Wanda. Most were indifferent or even impressed, but Natasha looked slightly angry as she stared at the woman. Tony just looked impressed, and he shot a crooked smile at y/n, which she returned. 

“I managed to upload the virus, and then we made it out before the database was wiped.” Y/n finished, stifling a yawn. 

Fury leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers as he locked eyes on Wanda. “As happy as we are to meet your mentor,” He began, and Wanda tensed. “Why exactly is she here?”

Wanda stared back, an air of indifference around her as she answered. “I did some of my own research on the facility once I learned about y/n’s mission, and upon discovering some concerning practices, I became worried about y/n’s safety. I wasn’t aware that she would have a team with her, as I wasn’t privy to the details of her mission, so I decided to come down and check up on her myself.”

“So you flew to the other side of the country, to… check on y/n?” Fury asked, mistrust shining in his eyes. 

“I’ve grown to care deeply for y/n,” Wanda said, her back straightening as she looked Fury square in the eye. “So yes, I flew across the country to ensure she was safe.”

Natasha let out a surprised huff, raising her eyebrows at y/n. Tony still looked impressed, and y/n gave them a look that said ‘we’ll talk about this later��. Wanda was still locked in a staring contest with Fury, who had narrowed his eyes suspiciously as the whole team observed with bated breath. 

“You stayed with her for the entire summer.” Fury said abruptly, turning his attention to y/n, who nodded. “Can she be trusted?” 

Y/n let her own eyes narrow, her hand tightening on Wanda’s thigh. “If I didn’t trust her, she wouldn’t be on this plane, Nick.” Tony’s jaw dropped, someone stifled a laugh, and Wanda looked over in surprise. “I trust her with my life, is that good enough for you?” Y/n practically spat out the last sentence, wanting this debrief to end as soon as possible. 

Wanda’s fingers returned to her waist, tracing soothing patterns as y/n attempted to blow Fury up with her mind. Surprisingly, it was Natasha who spoke up as she looked Wanda up and down.

“If y/n trusts her, then I see no reason to deny her clearance.” Natasha eyed Wanda, who gave her a small smile, before letting her eyes glance over at y/n. She observed the way that y/n leaned her full body weight against the woman, and the hand that was tracing soft circles on Wanda’s thigh. Natasha blinked, before smiling internally at the knowledge that y/n had finally found someone outside of the Avengers who cared about her immensely. She would still be having a chat with the woman though, she wasn’t going to let Wanda off that easily. Not after y/n had been crying for a solid week when she returned home. 

Fury nodded, clapping his hands together as he stood. He dismissed them, letting them know how pleased he was with the success of the mission, before making his way towards the front of the plane. The rest of the team started disassembling their gear, and disappearing into different rooms to change into a more comfortable outfit. Y/n simply leaned further into Wanda, who wrapped both arms around her as she buried her nose into the girl’s soft hair. 

“Sleep darling,” Wanda whispered, noticing how the girl’s eyes were closing of their own accord. Y/n tried to protest, shifting slightly in Wanda’s hold, but accidentally making herself more comfortable in the process. She gave up after a few seconds, wrapping her arms around Wanda’s waist as she rested her head against the front of her shoulder, burying her face into the woman’s neck and sighing contentedly. 

Y/n was fast asleep by the time that the rest of the team settled down, having been lulled to sleep by the rumble of the plane engine, Wanda’s warmth, and that comforting vanilla scent she’d missed. Tony still had an impressed look on his face as he appraised Wanda, before Natasha shoved him into a seat while shaking her head at his lingering stares. 

Wrapping her arms securely around y/n, Wanda made herself comfortable for the flight. She let herself relax slightly, mentally running over all the things she wanted to explain and apologize for. She took one last glance around at the rest of the Avengers, most of them already asleep, before allowing herself to close her eyes and relax fully with y/n wrapped in her arms. 

—

Y/n shouldered her small gear bag, leaning against Wanda as the team walked towards the compound. The sun was almost ready to rise, the first hints of pink peeking over the horizon. The team was silent, most of them still waking up and stretching as they shook off the jet lag. 

“I’m craving some tea.” Y/n murmured, smiling to herself when Wanda’s hand placed itself on the small of her back. Wanda hummed in response, blinking the sleep from her eyes as she took in the Avengers compound. She continued to look around as they entered the building, taking everything in with slightly widened eyes. 

Pulling Wanda towards the kitchen, y/n waved Natasha off towards the gym as Tony muttered something about sorting through the flash drive as he scurried towards his workshop. Pushing open a door, y/n led Wanda towards the modern-looking kitchen as she set her bag down on the counter. 

WIthout exchanging many words, the pair made some tea in a comfortable silence. A few rays of orange hit the counter as the sun started streaming through the large windows. As soon as the tea was made, y/n intertwined her fingers with Wanda’s and led her towards the elevators. 

Y/n watched Wanda’s fingers out of the corner of her eye as they fiddled with the mug in her hand. The woman’s green eyes were glued to the steaming liquid, and her posture was unusually tense. As soon as the elevators dinged open, y/n watched green eyes blink slowly as they stepped off and made their way towards her room. 

Pressing the door open, y/n set her bag down near her dresser before turning back towards Wanda. The woman stood near the door, her eyes eagerly taking in y/n’s room as her fingers tapped against her mug. 

“We don’t have to talk right now.” Y/n said, sitting down on the bed and placing her steaming tea on the nightstand. Wanda looked torn for a moment, before she crossed the room and sat down next to y/n. 

“No,” Wanda started, smiling softly at y/n when she met her eyes. “You deserve an explanation, and I don’t want to keep that from you any longer than I already have.”

Y/n just nodded, leaning against the headboard of her bed as she waited patiently for Wanda to begin speaking. The redhead opened her mouth, before closing it as her brows furrowed. 

“I’m trying to find the right words.” Wanda said, frustration bleeding through as she blew across the surface of her tea. Y/n reached for her own tea, sipping it as she observed Wanda. She still couldn’t quite believe that she was here, and having Wanda in her room felt sort of surreal. She watched Wanda work her jaw slightly before taking pity on her. 

Reaching out a hand, y/n tugged Wanda closer. She looked surprised, but obligingly scooted closer, her knees touching y/n’s crossed legs as she sipped her tea. Y/n’s hand moved to rest against Wanda’s thigh, and she slowly drew circles until the woman started talking. 

“I love you,” Wanda started, and y/n couldn't stop the slow smile that spread across her face. “I just… got scared.” 

A confused look came across y/n’s face. “I scared you? Or the feelings did?”

“No,” Wanda hesitated briefly, reaching down a hand to trace over y/n’s on her thigh. “I was scared that something awful would happen to you. Every person I’ve loved has been taken from me, my parents and Pietro.” 

Wanda stopped talking for a moment, before blinking away the unshed tears in her eyes as she looked y/n in the eye. “I stopped letting myself love after they died, because I was too afraid to get hurt again. But you…” Wanda squeezed y/n’s hand as she laughed slightly. “You caused me to feel more than I have in a long time. As soon as I realized I loved you, the only thing I wanted to do was protect you, to keep you safe so that I wouldn’t have to deal with heartbreak again.” 

“It was hard to say goodbye,” Wanda continued, a faraway look in her eyes. “I didn’t know how to say that I loved you when you left because the only thing I wanted to do was plead with you to stay. I felt that if I said goodbye, or told you I loved you, it would be the last time I would ever get the chance to.” She shook her head sadly, a tear slipping down her face as she brought her tea to her lips. 

Y/n set her own mug back on the nightstand as relief rushed through her. She’d been so worried that Wanda didn’t hold the same feelings as she did, but this entire time the woman had done nothing but love her. Reaching out, y/n grabbed Wanda’s mug and placed it next to hers before pulling her in for a searing kiss. 

Pulling back, y/n smiled widely as Wanda just blinked at her in shock. “So you really did fly across the country just to check on me?” 

An adorable blush made its way onto Wanda’s face as she answered, “Yes, I wanted to make sure you were alright and tell you that I loved you.” She cupped her hands around y/n’s jaw, her green eyes searching the girl’s face. “I hope I didn’t make an irreversible mistake by not giving you a proper goodbye.” 

Shaking her head, y/n pulled Wanda back for another kiss. This time, the redhead wasn’t taken off guard, and sucked y/n’s bottom lip in between her teeth as the girl leaned back. Pulling away, y/n asked one final question as Wanda’s lips chased hers. 

“Why didn't you come sooner? Or answer my texts?” 

Wanda smiled sheepishly at y/n as her thumbs ran gently over her cheeks. “I was busy murdering a coven of witches.” Y/n’s mouth fell open, and Wanda added, “Agatha sends her regards.” 

Shoving her slightly, y/n huffed. “You told me I could watch the next time you had to get rid of someone!” She crossed her arms as Wanda’s eyebrows rose in an attempt not to laugh. 

“You were a bit preoccupied, darling.” Wanda reminded her, and y/n sighed. 

“Fine, but next time you have to let me come along.” Y/n demanded, and Wanda nodded as she leaned in for another kiss. A single finger made its way to her lips, and Wanda froze in surprise. “Promise me.” 

“Promise you what?” Wanda asked, her green eyes locked on y/n’s. Swallowing harshly, y/n bit back the sudden tears that sprung into her eyes as she thought about her next words. “Promise that you’ll let me come along next time,” And shushed Wanda when she began to speak, her voice cracking. 

“Promise me that you’ll never make me feel unloved again.”

A tear slid down y/n’s face as she said the last part, and Wanda nodded quickly as she pulled y/n into a tight embrace. With her cries muffled against Wanda’s shoulder, y/n finally let out all the fears she’d had in the last week as a firm hand ran soothingly over her back. 

With her lips close to y/n’s ear, Wanda murmured her promises as she let her own tears fall. She really hadn’t meant to hurt y/n, and resolved to herself to make it up to the girl for the rest of her life, no matter how long it took. She held her close, burying her face into y/n’s hair as she soothed her, her hands rubbing circles on the girls back as her cries subsided.

Eventually, y/n’s tears stopped. She let herself linger in Wanda’s embrace, enjoying the feeling of being held. “You love me, right?”

The words were said against Wanda’s neck, and the woman shivered slightly as y/n’s lips moved against her skin. She tilted her head to place a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “I do love you, darling. I promise.”

Pulling away, y/n smiled softly at Wanda before her gaze dropped to her lips. The redhead raised an eyebrow at her, and y/n rolled her eyes before her hands wrapped around the woman’s collar and pulled her in. 

Their lips met fiercely, fighting for dominance for a brief moment before y/n surrendered and allowed Wanda to take control of the kiss. Strong hands pushed against y/n’s shoulders until she was fully on the mattress, one of Wanda’s hands snaked around to the back of her head to grip her hair. 

At a small yet urgent tug of her hair, y/n broke the kiss and allowed her head to be tilted back as Wanda trailed her wet lips down her jaw and to her neck. Placing hot, open mouthed kisses against the girl’s sensitive skin, Wanda shifted her body until one of her thighs slipped between y/n’s parted legs.  

Upon feeling the heat rising from y/n’s core, and smirking when the girl’s hips raised against her thigh, Wanda disconnected her lips from y/n’s neck. Gazing down at y/n’s desperate form, green eyes turned scarlet as Wanda’s magic twisted against her fingers. Within seconds, their clothes disappeared, and y/n groaned at the feeling of Wanda’s skin against hers. 

“God, you’re so desperate for me.” Wanda mumbled, panting at the feeling of y/n’s slick center thrusting against her thigh. One of her hands traveled across the girl’s overheated skin, teasing her until it reached the girl’s soft breasts. Her fingers expertly rolled y/n’s nipple, and Wanda leaned down to envelop the other in her mouth. 

Moaning, y/n arched her back as she pushed her chest further into Wanda’s stimulating touch. Her hand tangled in red locks of hair, while the other gripped the headboard behind her tightly. She could feel her own wetness spreading across Wanda’s thigh, but she was too far gone to care, so she rolled her hips shamelessly against the woman’s wet thigh. 

“Patience darling.” Wanda said, disconnecting her lips from y/n’s nipple after a teasing bite, causing the girl to jerk beneath her. 

“I waited for a whole week, Wanda.” Y/n said, trying not to sound too desperate. Wanda gripped her wrist when she attempted to touch the redhead, pinning her hand down as her green eyes bore into hers. 

“What do you mean by that?” Wanda asked, feeling excitement grow as she hoped y/n would say what she was thinking. Y/n struggled against her grip briefly, before giving up and staring up at Wanda with puppy eyes. 

Wanda raised a single eyebrow. Y/n rushed to answer as she remembered the question she’d just been asked. “One of your rules is that only you are allowed to touch me, so…” She trailed off, and Wanda’s eyes lit up. 

“You haven’t touched yourself at all?” She checked, and at y/n’s sheepish nod, bent down to capture the girl’s lips. She let her tongue slide against y/n’s before biting down on the girl’s bottom lip, drawing a whimper from her. “Good girl.”

A wandering hand made its way down y/n’s body, sliding easily over the girl’s damp skin until it reached the apex of her thighs. Wanda teased the soft skin of y/n’s mound, before dipping her fingers lower and moaning at the feeling of slick juices coating the girl’s inner thighs. 

A feral look made its way into Wanda’s green eyes, and in one swift movement, she thrust two fingers into y/n. The girl’s wrists flexed underneath her hand as her back arched up towards Wanda, who set a bruising pace as she twisted her fingers inside y/n’s dripping pussy. 

“Do you like that darling?” Wanda asked, and y/n moaned as white hot pleasure coursed through her. “Do you like it when mommy is rough with you?” 

Y/n’s head spun as a thick vanilla haze swept over her as Wanda’s words reached her. She tried her best to respond, fighting against Wanda’s hand on her wrists as she rolled her hips in time to the woman’s rough thrusts. 

“Answer me.”

“Yes mommy.” Y/n managed to say, her quiet words almost lost in the wet sound of Wanda’s fingers slamming into her. With each thrust, y/n was thrown further into the vanilla haze that she’d grown to crave. 

“Elaborate darling, I know you're a smart girl.” Wanda’s voice broke through the haze, and y/n managed to focus on those sparkling green eyes. Wanda’s red hair fell down around y/n’s head like a curtain, drawing all of y/n’s attention to her face. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her lips parted as she panted from the exertion of fucking her fingers into the girl below her. Y/n had never seen such a beautiful sight. 

“I like when mommy is rough with me and when mommy hurts me.” Y/n said, her voice breathy as she arched her body into Wanda’s. “Please let me come. I’ve been good, haven’t I?”

Wanda moaned at the desperation in y/n’s voice. She thought about denying the girl, the thought of edging her almost too good to pass up, but then she saw the look in y/n’s eyes. Her eyes shone up at her, little breaths leaving y/n’s lips with every thrust as her eyes locked on Wanda’s. The look of pure love in them caused Wanda to snap. 

“Come for me, darling.” She whispered, her eyes locked on y/n’s face as the girl’s hips sped up. Her face screwed up, her brows burrowing as her lips parted and her legs tensed around Wanda’s hand as the woman continued thrusting deep into her. Wanda’s thumb reached up and rubbed a few fast circles on y/n’s clit, and the girl spasmed as her orgasm washed over her. 

The vanilla haze sharpened as her body convulsed, her legs snapping tight around Wanda’s hand as she pulled her wrists roughly against the woman’s bruising grip. Her eyes screwed shut as she heard Wanda’s soothing voice telling her to breathe. The hand on her wrists disappeared, and y/n reached down to grip Wanda’s shoulders with trembling fingers.

As her body relaxed, still twitching from the aftershocks, y/n opened her eyes to find Wanda’s concerned face looking down at her. She realized that one hand was caressing her face gently, wiping away the few tears that had escaped, while the other one was still trapped between her legs. Y/n smiled softly, relaxing her legs and parting them as Wanda slowly removed her drenched fingers. Trailing them up y/n’s body, she nudged the girl’s lips until they parted and gently sucked them clean. 

Y/n moved, her own hand trailing down Wanda’s body with the intention of reciprocating, but Wanda captured the hand with her own and shook her head. “No darling, today is about you.” 

“But,” Y/n protested, forgetting that Wanda’s fingers were still knuckle deep in her mouth. She glared at Wanda when the woman chuckled, before the woman pulled her fingers from her mouth, moving the wet digits to circle y/n’s nipple. 

“I want to make you feel good though.” Y/n said, even as her breath shuttered due to Wanda’s nimble fingers. Wanda simply raised an eyebrow, leaning down to kiss y/n deeply. At the series of moans y/n let into the kiss, Wanda knew she had the girl wrapped around her fingers. 

Pulling back, Wanda descended y/n’s body, leaving open mouthed kisses on her soft skin. After a particularly harsh hickey to her inner thigh, y/n felt the vanilla haze enter her mind again, and she propped herself up on a few pillows as she watched Wanda leave marks all over her thighs and hips. 

Reaching out a hand, y/n ran her fingers through Wanda’s hair before gently tugging her head closer to her still-sensitive pussy. Wanda smirked up at her, getting comfortable on the bed as she asked, “Did you want something, darling?” 

“I want your mouth,” Y/n said, her pupils blown as she took in the image of Wanda’s sinfully plump lips hovering over her slick center. At Wanda’s raised eyebrow, she elaborated, “I want you to eat me out until your jaw is sore and the only thing you can taste is me.” 

“Fuck.” Wanda moaned, her eyes widening at y/n’s request. She let her tongue drag over the girl’s pussy, increasing the pressure when she reached her clit, and smirking when y/n’s hips stuttered beneath her. “Are you sure, love?” 

Y/n let her head rest against the headboard as she watched Wanda drag her tongue against her once more. Deciding that Wanda needed one more push, she teasingly rolled her nipple between her fingers as green eyes tracked the movement. “Please, mommy? I wanna come in your mouth so bad.” 

At the half moaned words, Wanda let her lips wrap around y/n’s swollen clit, sucking harshly. Y/n let out a surprised yelp, which was quickly replaced by low moans and rolling hips as Wanda began flicking her tongue against her. Wanda’s chin was soon soaked with y/n’s juices, and she lapped up as much as she could while still keeping consistent pressure on the girl’s clit. 

Eventually, the frantic rolling of y/n’s hips became too much, and Wanda twisted her fingers as a wisp of scarlet magic wrapped around the girl’s waist and pinned her to the bed. She dove back in, a delicious burn making its way to her jaw as she worked y/n closer to the edge. Her fingers raked along the girl’s hips and thighs, leaving wonderfully red marks along her soft skin as y/n’s hands buried themselves in Wanda’s hair. 

“Please mommy, I wanna come for you. Please let me come, I’ve waited all week for you. Please, please, please I’ve been a good girl. Your good girl.” Y/n begged, feeling her orgasm approaching. 

Wanda groaned slightly, her fingers twisting as her magic stimulated y/n’s clit as she left a large hickey on her hip bone. “Who do you belong to, y/n?” 

A choked sound rang around the room as y/n processed the question. She moved to put her hand over her mouth, embarrassed at how desperate she was becoming, but Wanda’s magic stopped her. Looking down, y/n gazed into Wanda’s scarlet eyes and blurted out her answer. 

“You, Wanda. Only you. Always you.”

Wanda’s eyes widened in pleasure at her answer, and before y/n could process what was happening, her hot mouth was once again wrapped around her pussy. Creating a suction with her lips, Wanda dragged y/n’s clit between her teeth as she felt it convulse under her ministrations. After a few harsh sucks, y/n came again, Wanda’s name streaming from her lips as her hips rutted against her face. 

Scarlet tendrils of magic swirled around the room in a frenzied manner. Wanda’s orgasm came shortly after, the woman having snaked her hand down to her own drenched lips to relieve the unbearable tension in her lower gut. Green eyes closed as her orgasm washed over her in waves, and she detached her lips from y/n’s swollen pussy as the girl squirmed beneath her. 

Eventually, y/n’s hoarse voice brought Wanda back to the present moment. “Wanda, can you hear me? I need you to release me, love.” 

Opening her eyes, Wanda quickly pulled her magic away from y/n as the girl’s body sagged onto the mattress in relief. She blinked, bringing her hand to her face to discover tears on her cheeks. 

Y/n saw the tears almost as soon as Wanda had noticed them, and sat up as she wrapped her arms around the woman’s shoulders. Bringing the woman’s shaking body close, y/n held her tightly as Wanda let out a few quiet sobs. Her magic remained, the red wisps floating around as Wanda buried her face into y/n’s neck. 

Whispering praises into Wanda’s slightly frizzy hair, y/n soothed her with a gentle hand against her back. Rocking back and forth, she continued to comfort the woman for a while, until Wanda pulled away and looked dazedly at her. 

“What’s wrong?” Y/n asked, her hand reaching up to cup Wanda’s jaw as her thumb ran over the woman’s damp cheeks. Wanda’s scarlet eyes shone up at her, her lips parted as she thought about her response. 

“I love you,” Wanda whispered, “I’m moving up here to be with you.” 

At y/n’s surprised look, Wanda rushed to continue. “I cannot be without you for that long, ever again. I’m going to stay with you while I begin the process of creating another one of my facilities here. I’ve always wanted to expand.” She let a playful smile onto her face, gazing at y/n’s shocked face with a look of adoration. 

“I will do whatever it takes to ensure your happiness, darling. That’s a promise. Your happiness is my top priority, and I'll go to great lengths to make sure you're happy. You deserve to have everything you could ever want, and I'll put my heart and soul into making that happen.” Wanda finished, her eyes sparkling up at y/n as her magic hovered with anticipation in the air. 

“Okay.” Y/n said, her words quiet as a beaming smile made its way onto her face. 

Wanda looked at her with scarlet eyes, still in disbelief at the words that y/n had said with quiet certainty. “Okay?” She checked, and y/n nodded enthusiastically before pulling her in for a deep kiss. She could feel y/n smile against her lips, and let her own giddy smile show as she kissed her back with passion. 

Pulling away, y/n let her eyes roam over Wanda’s face as she felt the hole in her heart start to repair itself. She giggled as Wanda teased her, leading the woman into the bathroom for a much needed shower as the red wisps of magic cleaned the bed sheets behind them. Y/n felt herself looking forward to the future, for once. She couldn’t wait to spend her life with the amazing woman she��d come to know and love over the summer. 

They continued about their day, lazing about in y/n’s room and catching up with each other. By the end of the day, y/n had a near-permanent smile on her face. She had successfully completed her mission, made some new friends, and fallen in love all in one summer. The best part? Wanda Maximoff’s eyes were finally sparkling again. But this time, not a rich green color. 

This time, they were sparkling scarlet.

[enchantingcanonmuseboys]

26 [hydra!grant/spiderman]

m/m nsfw gif starters | 26 with Hydra!Grant - Picture [ here] 

Grant Ward had done plenty of twisted things in the past, betraying his team, betraying his friends all the way to currently leading Hydra.  It was a trail of despair, destruction and pain.  So perhaps this was just another twisted thing to add to that mental list.  Grant damn near ripped that spider suit off and to shreds, the black and red hanging off the other in the most provocative ways as Grant’s thick cock slammed into the younger male again, and again with simple, pure aggression,. There was a ittle dip of his eyes at the sight of Peter’s cock hard and leaking and exposed from Grant’s aggression.  It was a power rush to bring a hero to such a utterly, ruined place.  There’s a dark smirk playing over Grant’s face as his hand reaches up to literally rip that face mask from the boys face as he soaks in Peter’s face for the first time. Huh. Cute. 

“Well aren’t you adorable..” He hissed as he slammed his cock all the way inside the boy, damn near spitting him open. 

[spyderwomcn]

@ofhydrasward

The mission was completed. Jess’s wound had healed, no scar to be seen on her skin, as per usual. The pain was nothing compared to what she had been through before, but still every time Grant brushed his hand over her side, she could tell that he was holding back, his touch feather light. Since that conversation that they both seemed determined to step around but still felt, things like that made Jess feel as if she was a step away from the edge of a cliff, exhilarated and ready for the air to rush under her as she jumped into the ocean below. It was more than just the passion that had heated them through before – now, it was warmth, which was infinitely more dangerous.

Jess slipped through the kitchen, knowing that if there was anyone who could sneak up on Grant Ward it would be her and vice versa, but choosing to make her movements somewhat noticeable so as not to startle him. “When you said there were sexy places to hide, I didn’t expect you to pull out all the stops. Start treating a girl like this and she’ll come to expect it, Grant,” Jess said, draping her arms around his shoulders as she walked up behind him at the kitchen bar, pressing a kiss behind his ear, pinching the lobe between her fingers playfully. She grabbed onto the side of his stool, spinning him around so she could look at him, a grin on her face. “If this is you trying to stop me going to Madripoor, it isn’t going to work,” she informed him. “You’ll need to provide me with a very persuasive itinerary if you have any chance. Does today include my partner cooking me a beautiful three course meal, by any chance?”

[timelostobserver]

"I am inclined to agree then. I've been..." Oh what was the phrase, the term he needed to use. 'Itching' felt too broad, too weak for what he truly wanted. What was a better phrase then for wanting to rip his new claws and sharp teeth into the flesh of the Demon Slayers? A perfect phrase for the desire to rip those who wallow in their own hypocritical nature apart limb from limb and not even taste their blood, as it was too low brow for him?

"I've been wanting to enact revenge for what they did to us that night.. I want to be able to finally, truly fight back.. to fight with you." He flexed his claws, gilded colors against the black charred color of his skin. A stark contrast to the paler color of the rest of his skin tone, but all the more terrifying as his eyes gave off the softest, red glow.

So he'd leave the room along side her, into the neigh endless twisting halls of the Infinity Fortress, but he'd pause, and look upward.

"Nakime?" He called out, he knew the Biwa demon had a soft spot for the siblings, so it didn't take much to request a means of travel from her.

"Can you grant us passage to the Northern edge of Asakusa Ward? Astra and I intend to do some..." A smile crept to his face as he looked down to Astra. "Slayer Hunting."

Though they were given no words, instead the strum of a biwa echoed around them, as a set of double paper doors appeared alongside their walkway, opening to the outside world. It was unremarkable how simple, how easy it was. Then again, he'd watched as Nakime would toy with Douma when the cult leader tried to request to be sent some where... Only to be forced tumbling through several rooms or repeating doorways.

It was funny, however. And a seeing some of the strongest demons under Muzan's hand doubled over and laughing at Upper Twos misfortune was always a nice sight to see.

Ah, now only if the slayers had a sense of humor.

"Thank you!" He motioned a hand in an 'after you' motion to Astra before stepping out himself into the cool, crisp, and clear night air. The outskirts of a much more bustling down, but still enough buildings to be considered a rather well off neighborhood. Most if not all the home lights were dwindling down, signaling the late hour for many to curl up, safe in their beds.

But for Hades, once they stepped out, he began to scan their surroundings... Yes, this was the spot.

"We're ahead of them.. We can lay our trap here, or we can go a little further ahead where there are less buildings. Less of a scene.." Less chance for innocents to be harmed or have their homes demolished. Especially with how careless slayers were when they were met with a demon. How quick they were to destroy anything and everything if it meant digging their blade into a demons neck.

It was funny how hypocritical they were when claiming demons spread destruction in their wakes.. When Demons actually caused less damage.

[ As Astra readied herself, she listened to his options. Two places, two different types of attacks. She was feeling... lucky that evening, too. She grew in her sword skills and the ones with the colorful haori would likely be exactly like that one more advanced swordsman they faced. And... if she were honest, she had more of an issue with the ones that were colorful.

After all, they were stronger.

If she could get her hands on the one above them all... well, that wouldn't be pleasant for him, would it?

She just hated demon slayers. They were hypocritical. They only created more damage with their fighting, drawing more attention to their cause as they tried to hastily cover it up. Overall, it was more than annoying to everyone involved. And, truly, more people died that way. Demon slayers, regular humans. Structures were destroyed, just an all-around type of chaos that wasn't healthy for anyone.

She had a feeling that the demons would have been satisfied living 'normal' lives, other than that. And they were the ones causing every problem they were supposedly fighting against. People died all the time. They went missing all the time. Things... would have been much easier on everyone the other way. But they would figure that out soon enough. If they wouldn't realize on their own, it was their job to make them understand. The amount of death that was sure to occur would clue them in on it.

❝I think going to the village would be a better time. The others would be easier to deal with... but I want to prove a point to them. This'll be the first time they see us again. I want them to look at us and be terrified.❞ She wanted them to suffer. And they would do so. ❝I think we've waited long enough for something like this. I'm recovered enough. You're strong enough to where that won't happen again. I can't wait to see their faces.❞

She snagged her sword with a small little smile. ❝I'm sure that when we make our decisions more options will appear for us. Eventually you'll probably be able to see more in the future, maybe based on assumptions or patterns?❞ Looking at the past to see the future always worked. Past behavior always gave them what they needed to see future actions. Rarely did a person ever change. In Astra's experience, anyway.

She hugged him, ❝So let's get going, Hades.❞ ]

[kiki-shortsnout]

You know, people say that IronStrange is a sad ship because they're clearly "right person, wrong time". But I think our ship is sailing on tears because Tony and Stephen are "right person, not enough time".

Can you use this as a prompt? If you're not busy? Or if you feel like it? Thank you 🥺

Of course I can use it as a prompt! What I came up with is a little but sad though!

Warnings: Mention of a terminal illness. (Nothing specific)

***

Smoothing out the collar of his shirt, Stephen checked his reflection in the mirror, picking up the bouquet of flowers he’d placed down on his desk. Taking a deep breath and checking his reflection once again, he practiced his smile before he left his bedroom.

He’d done this walk thousands of times without thinking about it too much. The Sanctum corridors were part of the background of his life, the setting blending into all the other memories he had of it. Today was different though, today he took his time to look at everything as he walked.

One of the cabinets was missing a ceramic incense burner that Stephen had always secretly hated. It was meant to ward off evil spirits and the like, but it had always given Stephen the eerie feeling of being watched. Tony had bumped into the cabinet by accident, leaving an indent in the wall that Stephen now brushed his fingers over. The accident had destroyed the gruesome thing, and Tony had replaced it with a sculpture of his own, a miniature Iron Man figurine.

‘That will stop the evil spirits dead in their tracks.’

His clutch on his flowers faltered as he looked down at the figurine, a few petals fluttering down to the floor.

Stephen could feel his resolve wavering, and he bowed his head, gritting his teeth against the burning in his eyes. The onslaught of his emotions raged in the confines of his mind, scratching and biting at his barely held together resolve. Why was this happening?

No, this wasn’t about him, this was about Tony, and he wasn’t going to let his arrogance invade now, not today. Clearing his throat, he refused to allow himself to feel anything else but this cheerful façade he’d constructed for the day.

Tony was sat in his armchair among the artifacts, talking to the Cloak about something inane. The Cloak’s collar twitched up, indicating it had realized Stephen was nearby, but it didn’t move from beside Tony, still giving him its full attention.

He was having a good day, which was why he’d suggested to Stephen they do this. A simple date, just the two of them. Stephen allowed himself to watch Tony for a moment, just listening to the sound of his voice and not the meaning of his words.

There were things he took for granted in his life, things that were constant, never faltering, his reality built upon them. Perched in his chair and talking to the Cloak, that was a fundamental part of Stephen’s life, not just a person he spent time with. He was as integral to Stephen as the air he breathed, the halls he walked down, the tea he drank.

There wasn’t a Stephen Strange without Tony Stark.

He couldn’t fathom a reality where Tony wasn’t in it.

Who else could he call douchebag and mean it as a form of endearment? Who would understand behind the snark and the sarcasm was genuine concern when Stephen spoke? No one else spoke the language they used with each other, their lexicon developed from their love and time spent together.

Shoving the feelings down, he ignored them, imagining stamping them into submission. He wasn’t going to do this now, not now, later, he would break later, now he would be there for Tony, give him the day he wanted.

‘Afternoon sweetheart, sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but Wong would just not shut up about some trivial illness he thinks he has now,’ Stephen said as he strode over to Tony, offering him the flowers.

‘I thought it was common knowledge that if you have a friend who used to be a doctor, you’re supposed to ask them to look at everything,’ Tony answered, leaning up to accept Stephen’s kiss.

‘I brought you some lilies-’

‘Hot rod red, just the way I like them!’ Tony burst out, reaching with grabby hands. Making sure his touch was delicate, Stephen helped guide his hands to the bouquet, ignoring how skeletal they were, the paper thinness of skin and how he could see the spiderweb of indigo veins beneath.

One of the strongest men in the universe, Earth’s defender was now reduced to this.

‘Peter told me they symbolize passion and romantic love, but I looked it up and they can also symbolize hard work.’

‘You trying to imply I’m not working hard enough or something, asshole?’ Tony mock growled, inhaling the scent of the flowers.

This was one of life’s crueler twists of fate, a final screw you to Stephen.

You still think there will be no consequences, Strange? No price to pay? We broke our rules. Just like her. The bill comes due. Always! The words ricocheted around his brain, plastering themselves over and over inside his skull, branding themselves on the back of Stephen’s eyelids, motes of red against the darkness.

He’d thought by saving Tony when he defeated Thanos he’d been doing the right thing. He’d forced his magic to comply, warping the very fabric of space and time to save Tony, to heal his charred body, his damaged brain. At the time he told himself that he was doing it not because he himself had fallen for the man in the millions of lifetimes he’d glimpsed of Tony, but because of Pepper and Morgan, the family he deserved to have.

Stephen had tried to stay away from Tony after that, hadn’t wanted to destroy a happy family, but Tony had been drawn to him, just as he had been to Tony. His relationship with Pepper had come to an end, an amicable end, there was too much love and memories between them for it not to be. Even then, Stephen had waited months, held Tony at arm’s length to make sure he was ready for this relationship.

Months they could’ve had together.

As a doctor, he knew what Tony’s diagnosis meant, knew that no matter what miracles the hospital performed that this was always going to be terminal. He wanted to fix this, dear God how he wanted to fix it. He didn’t want Morgan growing up without a father, didn’t…couldn’t imagine life without Tony, how he was meant to go on without him.

This had been the price of his arrogance. He had saved Tony’s life by breaking the natural law, and this was how it had demanded payment.

He brought Tony’s hand to his mouth, brushing a kiss against the delicate skin.

Love stories were not always about the everlasting love, the stretching of years before you. Sometimes it was as short as finding the right person and not having enough time.

‘I know, Stephen, I feel it too,’ Tony said, leaning his forehead against Stephen’s. ‘You promised me one day. One day without treatments, hospital appointments, being prodded.’

‘I did, and I meant it, sweetheart. What did you have in mind? We’ll do anything you want to do. I could portal us to the beach? Or another country?’ Stephen asked, offering his arm to help Tony up, and passing the flowers over to the Cloak.

‘Let’s go for a walk in Central Park, take an aimless meander,’ Tony told him.

‘An aimless meander? Since when don’t you have a plan in mind? A thousand different things that you want to do?’ Stephen teased as they walked down the Sanctum stairs, the Cloak waiting at the bottom for them both, attaching itself to Tony’s shoulders to help carry some of his weight.

‘Maybe I just want to spend time with you without any of life’s complications getting in the way,’ Tony countered.

Opening the front door for him, Stephen bowed at his waist, extending his hand in an exaggerated gesture. ‘Your wish is my command, douchebag.’ He hesitated for a moment, looking at the sky, the brilliance of the blue, the cotton candy spun clouds.

A perfect day for meandering.

[honourablejester]

Homebrew Druid Subclass: Circle of Ash, Blood & Bone

I’m in a mood where I’m just tinkering with ideas for fun. This is based rather strongly on Circle of Stars, at least in structure, but I wanted a more … lean, hungry, blood-and-bone magic feel. Sort of a hunter/shaman, augur, almost barbarian kind of thing. Probably not balanced. Heh.

CIRCLE: CIRCLE OF ASH, BLOOD & BONE

“In life there is power. In death, sacrifice and guidance for the living.” Druids of the Circle of Ash, Blood and Bone often hail from harsher lands and cultures, where hunting and subsistence are more common than agriculture, and where power is bound in blood, bone, and the ashes of the dead. Druids of this Circle feel a keen, mystical appreciation for the cycle of life and death, the bonds of predator and prey, the power of sacrifice, and the guidance of the dead.

ROLLING BONES

At 2nd level, as a symbol of their acceptance of the Circle of Ash, Blood & Bone, druids undertake a ritual to create a set of Rolling Bones. These are a set of small bones, usually from animals that the druid has hunted themselves or been gifted, marked with symbols, charred in ash, and imbued with the druid’s own blood. Kept in a small pouch, these bones may be used as a spellcasting focus. They may also be used as divining tools for spells such as Augury.

CIRCLE SPELLS

Druids of this Circle feel the power of their own bodies and the wisdom of the spirits keenly. At 3rd, 5th, 7th, and 9th level you gain access to the spells listed for that level in the following table.

Once you gain access to one of these spells, you always have it prepared, and it doesn't count against the number of spells you can prepare each day. If you gain access to a spell that doesn't appear on the druid spell list, the spell is nonetheless a druid spell for you.

Druid level          Circle spells

3rd                        Augury, Pass Without Trace

5th                        Vampiric Touch, Speak with Dead

7th                        Locate Creature, Death Ward

9th                        Commune with Nature, Greater Restoration

VISCERAL FORMS

Starting at 2nd level, as a bonus action, you can expend a use of your Wild Shape feature to take on a form of Ash, Blood or Bone, rather than transforming into a beast. You choose which form you take on taking this bonus action, and the form lasts for 10 minutes.  It ends early if you dismiss it (no action required), are incapacitated, die, or use this feature again.

While in this form, you retain your shape and statistics, but your appearance becomes altered and you gain certain benefits depending on the form you choose:

Ash. A milky film seems to cover your eyes, and you take on an ashen, ghostly appearance. Your movement speed increases by 10ft while in this form, and you gain a +5 bonus to Dexterity (Stealth) and Wisdom (Perception) checks. Invisible creatures or objects are marked by a hazy aura that reveals their location, but not their nature, to your sight.

Blood. Your flesh darkens, as though blood pools beneath the skin, and your fingertips drip with red. When you take damage while in this form, you can use your reaction to reduce that damage by an amount equal to your druid level, and then inflict necrotic damage on an enemy within 30ft of you OR restore hit points to an ally within 30ft of you equal to the same amount.

Bone. Your bones stand stark against your skin, as though rising to the surface, and you take on a gaunter, sharper, more angular appearance. You gain a +2 bonus to AC while in this form. As a bonus action on each of your turns, you can make a boneshaking melee spell attack against a creature within 5ft of you. On a hit, this attack deals force damage equal to 1d8 plus your Wisdom modifier.

SACRIFICIAL MAGIC

At 6th level, you gain a deeper understanding of the power of sacrifice. As a reaction, when you take damage that reduces you to 0 hit points but doesn’t kill you, you can grant a number of temporary hit points equal to your Wisdom modifier to up to three creatures of your choice within 60ft of you. These creatures have advantage on attack rolls and saving throws until the start of your next turn.

AWAKENED FORMS

Beginning at 10th level, as your magic soaks deeper into your body, your Visceral Forms improve. In Ash form, you gain a flying speed equal to your walking speed. In Blood form, when you use your reaction to reduce damage you’ve taken, you can now inflict damage equal to your druid level onto two enemies, or restore hit points equal to your druid level to two allies, or inflict damage on one enemy and restore hit points to one ally. In Bone form, your melee spell attack now deals force damage equal to 2d8 plus your Wisdom modifier.

Moreover, at the start of each of your turns while in Visceral Form, you can choose to switch between Ash, Blood or Bone.

SHARED ASH, SHARED BLOOD, SHARED BONE

The magic of your Visceral Form has so imbued you that you can awaken vestiges of them in other creatures. Beginning at 14th level, when you enter your Visceral Form, you can choose a number of willing creatures that you can see within 30ft of you equal to your Wisdom modifier (minimum of 1 creature) and grant them their choice of the following benefits: +10ft of movement speed, +2 bonus to AC, or temporary hit points equal to your druid level. These benefits last for 1 minute. They end early if you die, are incapacitated, or dismiss your Visceral Form.

[freyayuki]

Final Fantasy Record Keeper Final Fantasy II D450 Torment Dungeon

Currently, in the Final Fantasy Record Keeper (FFRK) mobile game, there are time-limited rewards associated with clearing the Final Fantasy II D450 Torment Dungeon located in the Cardia Dungeons. 

You can get the rewards if you do this quest 5 times and if you do it with at least 3 chars that are from Final Fantasy 2. 

I didn’t have a lot of relics that belong to FF2 charas, so I decided to do this fight with 2 off-realm chars.

Of course, one of my off-realm chars was Genesis Rhapsodos from Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII.

Currently, Genesis is one of my absolute, most favorite char in Final Fantasy VII (#ad). He’s the reason why I’m playing Final Fantasy Record Keeper.

Have all of his relics and I bring him everywhere I can, even to fights with enemies that resist the fire element (Genesis is a physical fire DPS). 

Anyway, the second off-banner I brought was Balthier (Ffamran mied Bunansa) from Final Fantasy XII. 

The Final Fantasy II chars I chose were the following:

Firion - didn’t invest that much into him since I only have his Awakened Arcane Soul Break (AASB). Unsurprisingly, he hit like a wet noodle on this fight.

Gordon - have nothing for him but his default Soul Break. Brought him along because he can equip the Wrath and Entrust abilities.

Hilda - served as my healer. Only have her Glint+ Soul Break so I had to buy her Ultra Soul Break from the The Record Lab with Anima Lenses.

Genesis served as my main and only DPS. He’s a physical fire elemental attacker, which was I brought Balthier to support him. 

Balthier has a fire Chain Soul Break which buffs fire damage and increases the party’s attack. He can also imperil the fire element, which will further increase Genesis’s damage.

Gordon Entrusted to Balthier and Hilda. Firion helped increase the Chain count with his pitiful damage from a fire-type ability. Hilda kept everyone alive with her healing.

This team worked surprisingly well enough. Was able to get the win although my first clear wasn’t sub-30. Fight ended on 30.41 seconds. 

It’s fine but since I had to repeat this fight a couple of times anyway for the time-limited missions, each time I did, I tried to lower my turn count. Eventually, I was able to get the sub-30 with the fight ending at 28.73 seconds.

I think having Ifrit, the 6-star Fire Magicite, with double Empower Fire passives really helped. 

Before getting Ifrit, I was making do with Shiva, the 6-star Ice Magicite. Had her inherit the Blade Ward and Spell Ward passives. 

My double Empower Fires were on Belias, the 5-star Fire Magicite. With the addition of Ifrit to my Magicite deck, I could drop Belias and have 2 6-stars, which also increased my overall stats.

IIRC, this is the first D450 Torment Dungeon that I was able to sub-30 with 2 off-realm chars. Granted, I’ve only done a few of the Torments so far. 

Still, I’m really pleased with this because you’re heavily encouraged to clear all Torments by fielding a full party made up of chars that belong to the same realm. 

There are penalties the more off-realm chars you bring. To be able to bring my fave Genesis to these fights and be able to win is really super special awesome.

Conclusion

So what about you? Have you tried any of the D450 Torment Dungeon fights yet? Did you bring any off-realm chars to these battles? What do you think about these quests? Feel free to share your thoughts and opinions by leaving a comment below or by reblogging or replying to this post.

Notes:

screenshots are from my Final Fantasy Record Keeper game account

[birb-tangleblog]

Hello! I've been wondering what the origins of each of the members of the Brotherhood could be. Like, if they are native to the Dark Kingdom, if they are noblemen/peasants... What do you think?

Hi anon!! Thanks for the ask!

I tend to headcanon that Adira and Hector are both orphans in some way, and probably share pretty similar backgrounds- just with Adira having more social/community support, and at least some people who looked out for her, while Hector was left on his own.

And I think that's prob a pretty common take, but like with Hector in particular (and Adira, to a lesser extent) I think it's honestly just hard to imagine someone with a well-adjusted, stable upbringing growing to be so extreme and intensely dedicated to their cause.

(Like if you assume Edmund or another royal took Hector in, gave him a home, fed him, and made him into who he is, then of course he's going to put him on a pedestal and not want to go against him. In comparison, Adira and Quirin having more external support and a wider perspective gives them more to base their sense of identity off of. And you can kinda see how that plays out w/ where they each ended up.

+ I think Hector having that added emotional baggage to unpack is interesting. ANYWAY-)

So my take is that both Hector and Adira were orphans, who became wards of the DK after someone saw a spark of potential in them and gave them the offer to begin training as squires.

Before that, I think Adira did have people in her life who loved her- parents, extended family, or other members of her culture/community- but they just weren't able to take care of her, or they passed away. Maybe she left so as to not be a burden on them? With Hector, idk if I think his bio parents even died early on so much as they just didn't want him- him being a street kid is my hc.

They lived at the castle (where they met Quirin), received an education, and worked their way up to knighthood/formal initiation into the Brotherhood. I imagine Brotherhood training is... a very encompassing and rigorous process, so that exp prob brought the three of them together, and their bond helped them to succeed. :>

I think it'd make sense if they met as little bby knights adjusting to their new lives, but I'm also very fond of the idea that Adira and Hector knew each other prior? And were this pair of urchins scraping by together. Only ever having each other to depend on really just adds to that childhood best friends, "nothing will ever come between us" dynamic that I'm a sucker for. And it makes for an enduring bond- there's obvs still a lot btwn them even so many years later.

The Flynn book also gave us Maeve! And I'm totally here for her being this figure in their upbringing later on- a matronly lady getting after them for being scamps, but still slipping them extra bread rolls and pulling strings for them on the sly. Maybe teaching life lessons or helping them out socially, too.

Based on Adira's Korean-inspired char design and the presence of Hector's binturongs (which are native to South and Southeast Asia) I actually kinda lowkey HC that one of the DK's neighboring countries or trade partners is analogous to SE Asia? And that Adira's family either moved to the Dark Kingdom from there before her birth, or she's mixed!  (Maybe they moved due to war/sickness/famine  and that's also how she lost her parents?)

Quirin and Hector both have that archetypal DK look, like Edmund- tall, dark hair and eyes, widow's peak, prominent cheek bones- so I assume they and their parents were native to the DK.

Re. Quirin, I've said this but I like the thought of him coming from lesser nobility? Maybe a distant cousin of Edmund's. Or just having a background of more privilege and stability relative to the other two, with his parents there for him, and that giving him a bit more emotional distance from the Brotherhood and moonstone, along with more of an ability to envision/want something else for himself in the future. 

Quirin’s family name is on the side of a building somewhere in the DK, and Hector and Adira are the scholarship/grant kids of the Brotherhood.

(And I think having that bg in addition to being a knight also adds more meaning to him rejecting all of it, and choosing instead to settle down as a farmer later.)

Though, even if his parents weren't nobles and were... craftspeople or merchants or what not, I can still see him being a bit closer to Edmund/having more of a peer relationship with him, and just naturally picking up on court life + focusing on studies/politics more than the others, which eventually leads to him becoming a leader and Ed's advisor/right hand man.

I hope this whole thing wasn't too disjointed lmao. Everything about the Brotherhood's origins is pretty much fanon and personal pref, and I'm p flexible w/ HCs! But I'm always gonna go for the origin story and beats that have the most emotional pay off to me, yk?

I'm pretty picky abt the popular trend of treating the bros as literal siblings, but I do get a kick out of how much speculation and different ideas there are about their pasts- it's prime free real estate!

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Yeah, so I read your HP headcanons/analysis and I found it really well put. I was wondering about your thoughts on Dumbledore and who he really was as a person. (It’s okay if you don’t really want to reply :> )

We’re just getting all up into The Carnivorous Muffin headcanon land, aren’t we?

Well, this one’s probably obvious to anyone who reads my work.

I fall on the manipulative Dumbledore side of things and then some. Dumbledore is not only a bastard man but is a raging misogynist and extremely classist (which is funny because I don’t see too many people calling him out for those last two when to me canon all but shouts it at you). 

Basically, what it comes down to, is even taken in very good faith I simply cannot read Dumbledore’s actions as benign in pretty much every single goddamn decision he makes ever.

God, where do I even start here? I guess we can go chronologically.

Well, there was Dumbledore’s Wizard Nazi youth with an oddly Dorian Gray flare to it with Gellert. I think it’s fairly obvious why Dumbledore’s not exactly... good there so I’m going to skip past it. Suffice to say, it took his sister’s death (and maybe murdering his own invalid sister) for Dumbledore to stop planning world domination. Even then it wasn’t so much that world domination was wrong, but because his sister died and he was an asshole.

I’m going to go ahead and include CoG and Fantastic Beasts because I can (CoG, while a terrible movie, actually does entertain me in many ways). Anyways, before the films came out I always considered the younger Dumbledore far more stoic and brooding. He doesn’t get his eccentric persona until after the defeat of Grindelwald and was before then angsty mcangsts and an academic at heart. 

Well, per CoG, apparently he was a budding spy master long before defeating Gellert/Voldemort popped up. We see him manipulating Newt, sending him to Paris as his own agent, WHEN NEWT DOESN’T WANT TO GO AND HAS ACKNOWLEDGED THAT DUMBLEDORE USED HIM INTHE LAST FILM. Dumbledore writes off having used Newt for his own agenda with a charming smile but none the less it paints a pretty grim picture that Albus has always been... Albus. There has always been a greater good out there somewhere and the man is always using someone as a pawn.

Cut to canon and his treatment of Tom Riddle. Frankly, Dumbledore’s treatment of the young Tom Riddle, and even Tom Riddle just before he came Voldemort, is insane. The thought experiment I like to run is “replace Tom in those scenes with Harry Potter”.

Harry was a poor orphan, whose guardians would more than match what Mrs. Cole said about Tom Riddle, who had spurts of accidental magic now and then and enjoyed when his bully cousin was discomfitted. Now, imagine Dumbledore giving Harry his letter, and then pretending to light all of Harry’s possessions on fire to “teach him a lesson”. What the fuck?

Now, am I saying Tom Riddle wasn’t creepy here and that killing a rabbit was terrible. No. But I am saying Dumbledore had a horrible reaction to it and is proud of it years later. (Also, the fact that he uses this memory to convince Harry of how evil Tom is, is hilarious to me. Dumbledore, you were the shit that lit people’s wardrobes on fire. If I was Tom, I’d be upset too). 

Dumbledore is always like this with Tom Riddle. He thinks the worst of Tom even in points where Tom hasn’t done anything. I’m not talking about later when, yes, Tom did live up to Dumbledore’s fears but when Dumbledore treats him like garbage and actively sabotaged Tom’s career.

Anyways, cut to later when the Marauders are in school. One of the big things is that Dumbledore puts up a guerilla resistance gang OF SCHOOL CHILDREN. While most members are older, James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, and Peter are all only just out of Hogwarts. “Well,” you say, “It’s their choice and they did graduate. Surely Dumbledore wasn’t actually recruiting school children.” I point you towards canon, where Dumbledore convinces three actual school children that the fate of the nation rests on their shoulders and to go fight the good fight. So yes, Dumbledore canonically uses child soldiers and has no regret for doing so.

The other is letting James and Sirius off the hook for the Lupin incident. While Dumbledore talks the talk this showed that he was not willing to walk the walk. True, while getting them into major trouble would have involved outing Lupin (who was innocent in all of this) at the same time they were nearly responsible for the murder of another student. It’s very convenient that Dumbledore lets off the rich son of a lord, two individuals who later end up in the resistance movement (Potter likely funding part of it), and tells the impoverished half blood to sit down and shut up.

And in canon, yes, I believe that Dumbledore absolutely knew what Harry’s home condition was like. While the blood wards are an excuse they aren’t a particularly good one as for most of Harry’s childhood the Death Eaters were all accounted for. Harry was in no extreme danger from them. To not have had an inkling of Harry’s home life (when Harry even hints at it when wanting to stay over the summer, Harry runs away from home in third year, Fred and George see the bars on the window, and he even visits Harry’s home in sixth year) would be such laughable incompetence and stupidity it’s right out.

With that, I absolutely do believe what Snape showed us in the memory, the Dumbledore behind the scenes as it were. That Dumbledore knew fairly early that Harry Potter was a horcrux and began grooming Harry for suicide. Specifically, that’s what sixth year really is. All those memories of Tom Riddle, the pretext to get some memory from Slughorn, it’s an excuse for a smear campaign designed to convince Harry that Tom Riddle is inherently evil and must die at all costs, even Harry’s own life. 

Dumbledore didn’t need that Slughorn memory. Sure, it was useful to know Tom intended to make seven but think about it. How did Dumbledore know there’d be anything remotely useful in there? He doesn’t know that Tom actually drops a number on Slughorn. Even then, he doesn’t know whether Tom actually goes and does it. All of it felt like, “Harry, I have a super secret important mission that only YOU can do. Can you handle it, Harry? Because without this the country is surely doomed” And in that I mean it was an effort to win back Harry’s favor after the previous year meltdown, keep him busy, and start in on the excuse to show Harry some pretty damn innocuous memories of Tom Riddle and go, “See, HE IS EVIL!”

Due to this, I frankly think that the train scene was a hallucination on Harry’s part. Wishful thinking for some gentle explanation of how Dumbledore had not cruelly used him for years and intended his death. 

Well, that and it never made much sense that Dumbledore could predict Harry’s a) becoming the master of death b) miraculous second resurrection.

In the first case, Harry becomes master of death because of wand lore bullshit and happenstance where Harry happens to save Draco’s life. Dumbledore had no idea such a thing would happen. Dumbledore’s plan was for there to be no master of death, as the wand would default to having no owner when Snape defeated Dumbledore on Dumbledore’s orders. That Draco got the wand is a sort of Deus ex Machina. Sorry guys, Dumbledore intended Harry to die.

More, even then, while Dumbledore was very into the occult of these things we leave canon without any idea if these things are even responsible for his resurrection. They’re just relatively nifty objects with a legend behind them. There was nothing concrete to suggest that, should Harry happen to get all of them, he would be able to rise from the dead.

Otherwise onto the misogyny and classism parts.

In terms of misogyny this is from every time Dumbledore talks about Lily Evans or Merope Gaunt. In the case of Lily, she’s this weird Madonna figure whose love for Harry was so powerful it saved his life. That she also happened to make these blood wards Dumbledore cannot reproduce and extended her protection to Harry wherever he went is irrelevant. It’s her love that counts. That feminine, maternal, love purer than all others.

Basically, Dumbledore seems to be of the belief that women are flowers. The best of women are these demure, selfless, brave women who sacrifice themselves for their children. Yikes, Dumbledore.

Merope’s the really bad one though. Merope’s tale is how she drugged and raped a defenseless muggle for months and then he escaped. Dumbledore spins it into this Victorian tale of woe where Tom Riddle Sr. THE KIDNAPPED RAPE VICTIM is the asshole here who abandoned Merope to the merciless cold world. How dare he. 

It’s very clear that Dumbledore doesn’t see Merope, or women in general, as people. Instead these weird Victorian ideals who can be tragic victims of circumstance.

As for the classism.

While Dumbledore’s very against the pureblood culture we see in the Malfoys a lot of his treatment of Tom Riddle feels very... classist. The big one, which is a little tangential but I say it counts, is Dumbledore’s theory that children of rape are incapable of love. Granted, he’s saying this while convincing Harry to kill himself for the good of the cause and there is a real world parallel in that alcohol/drugs while pregnant is a very bad idea that can lead to extreme mental and physical health disorders. That said, we’re talking love potions at conception, and it always read more as “rape babies” vs. specific drugs. And that is... just yikes on so many levels.

Now, do I agree with manipulative Dumbledore we see in many fics? No, because Dumbledore’s not that stupid.

He doesn’t need to borrow money from Harry’s vault, he doesn’t need to pay off Hermione and Ron to be Harry’s friends, he doesn’t need to choose Harry’s friends for him, he doesn’t need to manipulate Harry’s memories directly. He doesn’t need to do any of this because he got what he wanted just fine in canon.

Dumbledore is one of the smartest characters in canon, far smarter than Harry, and he doesn’t have to stoop to such outrageous schemes to get what he wants. Poorly concealed smear campaigns convincing Harry to commit suicide are more than enough.

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

The Fae

Geralt takes a contract to hunt down a fae, but he was not ready for what he found.

For @loveyprophet​ - Happy Birthday!

 Dusk was creeping in, the light of the day dwindling as the sun sank towards the horizon.

The steady beat of Roach’s hooves against the old worn track slowed as they approached the small village. The old wooden houses were coloured by the dust and mud that ran through the centre of the town and lit by the flickering light of the lanterns that hung by the doors.

The town was quiet—not filled with the usual sounds of laughter and talk from the tavern.

Geralt pulled back on the reigns, slowing Roach more as they made their through the town.

“Witcher!” a man called out.

Geralt was almost taken aback by the tone of the man’s voice; he was so used to the word being shouted with viciousness and disgust, not relief or excitement.

A man stepped into the light of the balcony of the inn—a stocky man with long greying beard and an apron that had been dirtied from a day’s work.

“I have a contract for you, if you choose to take it?” the inn keeper proposed.

Geralt nodded briskly.

“There’s a fae that’s been terrorising out village. I’m willing to pay if you will get rid of it.”

“I will not take your coin,” Geralt said, dismounting Roach and reaching back up to help Ciri down from the saddle. “You can pay me by putting me and my ward up for a few nights.”

“It’s a deal,” the inn keeper replied.

“I shall begin hunting at dawn,” Geralt promised, walking Roach over to a nearby wooden bench and tying his reigns to the post.

He dug into one of the pouches on Roach’s saddle, pulling out a handful of oats and feeding them to him.

Roach ate the oats and farewelled Geralt with a snort.

Geralt stepped over to Ciri’s side, gently setting his hand on her shoulder and guiding her towards the door.

“I’ll see you to your rooms,” the inn keeper said, leading the way into the building.

The man walked them upstairs and into a room. It was sparsely furnished—two beds standing side by side and a fireplace on the far wall.

The inn keeper lit the fire, nodding politely as he excused himself from the room.

Ciri sat down on the bed by the fire, holding her hands out as the flames warmed her chilled fingers.

“Can I come with you tomorrow?” Ciri asked.

“No,” Geralt answered shortly.

Ciri spun around to face him. “Why not?”

“Fae are dangerous creatures,” he explained. “Some believe them to be demons, others think they’re demoted angles or spirits of the dead. Whatever the case; they’re devious, cunning, powerful, and dangerous. I will not put you in danger.”

Ciri bowed her head, turning back to the fire. “I want to be able to help you. I want to be able to fight.”

“Then I’ll train you,” Geralt offered. “But first, you need to bathe and you need sleep.”

Ciri pulled her boots off and turned to see Geralt preparing a bath for her.

“Very well.”

------------------------- 

 Geralt lifted the tankard to his lips, gulping down the cool, fresh water.

“Something struck me last night. There was a bard who came through town a few days ago. He was a little odd, but he spent the evening playing music in the tavern the night of the last sighting—the night before last. The strange part is he didn’t stay the night in the inn,��� the inn keeper explained. “He’s most likely camping out in the woods. He might have seen something; if you find him, he might be able to help you.”

Geralt nodded.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, setting down the tankard and tossing a coin across the bar.

“You do not need to pay,” the inn keeper said, sliding the coin back across the counter. “Meals and drink are counted towards your say; it’s the least I can offer for your service.”

Geralt nodded briskly, returning the coin to his coin pouch.

He glanced towards the staircase.

“I’ll keep her safe,” the inn keeper promised.

“Thank you,” Geralt said, stepping back from the counter. He turned and made his way out into the street.

Even during the day, the town was quiet. Market stalls were set up along the streets; fruit stalls, stands stacked with bundles of cloth, fine silks and tailored clothes, and merchants who talked quietly among themselves. Yellow straw was strewn across the ground, tousled by the unsettling breeze that rolled through the streets, bringing with it a familiar smell: soft musk and the floral scent of buttercups and roses—a smell he had not encountered since the mountain.

Geralt felt a spike of fear drive itself through his heart.

The inn keeper had mentioned a bard, but Geralt hadn’t thought it’d be his bard.

He drew in a steady breath, making his way down the dusty track that led out the back of the town and into the woods and walking in the direction that the inn keeper had said the creature had flown in.

The dry husks of leaves crackled beneath his feet, the rich smell of sweet petrichor filling his lungs as they walked along the muddy train and further into the woods. The trees towered over him, beams of light shining through the canopy.

Crystal-like droplets of dew gathered on the wavering blades of grass and delicate flowers grew along the edge of the path, filling the undergrowth with bursts of colour: white, purple, yellow, and blue.

He was surrounded by towering trees and thick shrubs, full of autumn tones of brown, gold and red, and lingering black shadows. Dense foliage hung overhead, enclosing the space, shutting out the sky and filtering the sunlight. Thin streams of light filtered through the leaves, scattering glimpses of light across the forest floor.

The sweet aroma of musk, roses and buttercups seemed to grow stronger, mingling with the smells of the forest. As he walked deeper into the forest, he was met with the bitter smell of ashes and charred wood. Further up the past he stumbled upon a campsite; a small pile for locks stacked in the centre of the clearing, blackened by fire and surrounded by grey ash.

Beside the small campfire lay a bedroll.

There was no blood, no odd smells—just Jaskier’s earthy scent.

The blanket of leaves on the forest floor was disturbed, a trail leading through the shadows of the trees and towards another clearing.

Geralt’s foot falls were silent as he moved through the shadows towards the other clearing.

The breeze brought with it the sound of music; a soft melody of strumming strings.

Geralt slowed as he approached, listening to the sweet voice as the creature hummed along to the melody.

They sat on the moss-covered stump of a fallen tree with their back turned to Geralt. The radiant sunlight played across his pale skin. The soft breeze blew through the tousled mess of his dark hair. He’s dressed in a golden brown jacket, decorated with brown lace and gold embroidery; unbuttoned and hanging open to expose a white dress shirt.

The streams of sunlight seemed to sparkle as it danced around him.

Their wings rested against their back, gleaming as they caught the light. They were like fine lace—translucent and covered in swirls of golden patterns like fine embroidery or ornate filigree.

He held onto a mahogany lute, strumming at the strings as he began to sing the words to the familiar tune.

“The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool.

Better stay out of sight

I’m weak my love, and I am wanting.”

Geralt listened, his heart aching as he couldn’t help but say his name.

“Jaskier.”

The fae stopped singing, the sounds of the forest falling silent around them. He didn’t turn around to face Geralt—he didn’t need to; Geralt knew who he was.

“I know you’d find me one day,” Jaskier said, his voice saddened and quiet. “I had assumed it would happen later than this, but it looks like destiny is set on cursing you with my presence.”

Geralt grunted.

He wanted to say sorry, he wanted to say that he wanted Jaskier back in his life, but the words couldn’t come out. He wasn’t ready for this.

He had thought up a million ways to apologise to the bard; a million scenarios, ranging from those that ended in passionate kisses to those that ended with punches and bloodshed. But he wasn’t prepared for this.

“Well, Witcher,” Jaskier said, shaking Geralt from his thoughts. “How is this going to go? I imagine you’re here for a contract, so what is it they want: my head, my wings? I hope my death will at least bring you a large sum.”

Geralt was taken aback. Did Jaskier really think Geralt could ever hurt him? He’d never say it out loud, but the bard was his friend. But the words rang in his head: “If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands.”

He had hurt him in the worst possible way.

“I’m not here for a contract,” Geralt replied.

Jaskier turned to face him.

Geralt lost himself in his eyes; the same azure blue eye that were as bright as the sky above.

But there was something about him; without the glamour to hide his power, he seemed even more beautiful; radiant.

“So, you’re here for a personal kill? To kill a fae and gloat of your victory I know that it’s a high praise for a Witcher to bag such a kill.”

Geralt felt his heart drop.

It hurt that Jaskier would think so little of him, that he’d assume the worst in him. Granted, he did deserve the sharp retorts and the anger that dwelled beneath those pools of blue; he had every right to feel hurt after what Geralt had said.

Geralt shook his head. “I could never harm you… not like that. You are no monster or something to hunt for sport.”

Jaskier tilted his head slightly, looking at Geralt with curiosity.

“Then what are you heard for.”

Geralt let out a measured breath. He took a step closer to Jaskier, then another, until he stood beside him, meeting his gaze.

Geralt looked deep into his eyes as he said, “I’m here to beg for forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness for what?”

Geralt hesitates—words were never one of his strengths; neither was emotion. He had Jaskier for that.

He drew in a deep breath.

“For hurting you,” he said. “For blaming you for things that were never in your control. For taking my anger out on you unjustly. For… For everything.”

Jaskier’s bottom lip quivered, his breathing shallow as his eyes began to glisten with tears.

“But, most of all, for not realising how much you truly mean to me. For not realising that I took you – and everything you did for me – for granted.”

Tears threatened to spill over as Jaskier desperately tried to hold them back. All the hurt—all the heartache he had held for months—fading away as he settled into the familiar warm feeling he felt in Geralt’s presence.

A tear fell past his lashes, glistening in the sunlight as it caressed the pale skin of his cheek.

Geralt slowly reached up with his hand, Cupping Jaskier’s cheek as he gently brushed away the tear with the ball of his thumb.

Neither of them knows who leant in first, but it didn’t matter; what mattered was what they felt when their lips met.

It was indescribable; a mix of passion and tenderness that made them feel complete.

One of Jaskier’s hands glided up Geralt’s arm, up his bicep and across his shoulder blade. His other hand ran up the nape of Geralt’s neck, lacing his fingers through his long, silver hair.

Geralit sighed in return, craning his neck as he deepened the kiss.

He drew back slowly, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s as he drew in ragged breaths.

Jaskier tilted his chin, bringing their lips together again.

They lost themselves in the kiss, letting the world slip away as they melted into each other’s embrace.

After a while, Geralt finally returned to his senses.

“How did you manage to hide this for so long?”

“I used a glamour to disguise myself,” Jaskier admitted.

“But I would have sensed it,” Geralt replied.

“It was strong enough to hide effectively, but weak enough that you – or any other Witchers – wouldn’t pick up on it,” Jaskier admitted.

Geralt nodded He’d never say it, but he was impressed.

“Why?”

“Why did I hide among humans?” Jaskier reiterated, trying to extract Geralt’s question. “Because I wanted a chance to fit in.”

He met Geralt’s gaze.

“And I found one.”

Geralt lifted his brow questioningly.

“With you,” Jaskier replied. “I’ve never felt like I belonged until I met you. I’m just sorry my presence brought you so much chaos and misfortune.”

“You are not to blame,” Geralt said, his voice soft but firm.

Jaskier’s met his gaze with a pained look. “I heard Cintra burnt.”

“The child is safe,” Geralt replied. “She’s in town, waiting for me to return.”

A look of relief passed over Jaskier’s face.

“You’re welcome to return with me,” Geralt said, a hint of pleading in his voice.

Jaskier blinked in surprise. “Are you sure you’d want me? I only ever bring you bad luck.”

“Bad luck follows me no matter what,” Geralt replied. “And I’ve never been more sure.”

Within the blink of an eye, Jaskier’s wings disappeared; the glamour returning his image to what Geralt had remembered.

  -------------------------

 “Witcher,” the inn keeper greeted him as he returned to the town.

“The fae has been banished,” Geralt lied.

“Thank you,” man said with a sigh of relief. “You and the girl are welcome to stay a few more nights.”

Geralt nodded.

Geralt made his way upstairs to the room, Jaskier following after him. He pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

“You’re back!” Ciri called out, her voice a mix of delight and relief. She ran to Geralt’s side and threw her arms around his waist.

He tried to hide his soft smile as he hugged her back. He stepped back, turning slightly so that Ciri could see the man that walked in.

“Ciri, this is Jaskier,” Geralt introduced. “He’s… a friend.”

Jaskier’s eyes softened as he looked at the young girl.

“You’re just as beautiful as your mother,” he said softly.

Ciri smiled, but there was a sad note to it.

“Will you stay with us?” she asked.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt.

The Witcher met his gaze, his orange eyes somewhat pleading.

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I will.”

[mxvladdy]

Satan- True Form

Here is another one!

Next up: Lucifer

Satan

Does wrath have a form?

To have a body only imprisons an idea or emotion. With no corporeal body, he is a boundless devastating calamity. He is parallels that clash and drives one to the brink. His sin is like drowning in flames, growing, and growing till it swallows one whole. It burns and lashes out blindly, it is true helplessness. He seeks out the weakness in man, finding the crack in the veneer. Then he strikes fast, burrowing in deep into the human psyche.

He finds the little things and picks at them like a scab. Poking and prodding, whispering all the little things that will make the brain boil. He leaves only when the human is a husk of their former self and are consumed by his wrath.

Formlessness suited him, for a while at least. But as the eons progress, he grows restless. He grows tired of being the invisible brother. Tired of being mentioned only in passing from the six fallen angles. He was more than that, he was stronger than that. He will step out of this shadow of Lucifer.

He creates a form. Unique and special to him, no other brother could do it. In his own way, he is prideful.

Satan builds one out of ash and char. He spent years collecting and molding his form to perfection. He makes his body from clay, wood, and paper. Each strip and scrap painstaking collected and etched with sigils and protection runes to shield it from his sin. The heat of his rage glows through his eyes and the cracks of his burning body. The flames that burst forth from his body are like solar flares, arching, and floating around his body as he moves.

His flames change colors with his mood. Anything from the deepest purples and oranges to blinding whites. The heat of which can be felt from yards away. All the while, great plumes of smoke burst forth from his hollow orifices.

He has the smallest form of the cardinal sins. As wrath does nothing but wares the body down. He constantly has to maintain his form by renewing signals and collecting material. Granted, he still towers over the average human male.

His spine is bowed into a permanently hunched stance. His long twig-like fingers drag the ground as he moves. Though he is considered bipedal he lopes on all fours as his arms are disproportionately long to his body.

He is the only brother that can’t be in close vicinity of you when he takes on his true form. To say that fuels the fires of his wrath is an understatement. It’s unfair. Why can the other brothers be near you? Why can they temper themselves enough for you to approach?  

You both work together, looking through his massive collection of books and scrolls. Surely there must be something to make it so you wouldn’t burst into flames just by being near him.

He genuinely wants to show you his form. He is proud of it since he created it himself.

Finally, you two find a solution. There is no way for you to be in the same room, and enchanting you would be too risky. But rooms can be enchanted. He decides to enchant the planetarium to be heat resistant. You can stay inside there and he will go outside with the wards protecting you.

When he’s outside the heat of him feels like a warm summer day. Your own personal heat lamp.

Mini Fic

“I don’t understand.” You squint at the equation in front of you. This was the third time you had redone this problem. The theorem was copied correctly. Your math was correct. Right? “What did you get on this one Satan?” You look up, and up, and up, through the plated glass windows and up into his smoldering lamp-like eyes. Alchemy was always a pain in the ass.

Satan leans down closer from his spot outside, long thin fingers grasp at the planetarium outer walls. The metal and glass groan under the pressure and heat of him. The inner room’s temperature spikes around you, the cool night air turning into a balmy summer’s eve. Sweat peppers out on your skin, the flush so sudden it makes you dizzy.  Underneath his palm, the sigils he had carefully had painted across the entirety of the room lit up, and the heat dissipates back to a pleasant blanket around you.

“Hmm.” Smoke billows from between his lipless mouth and nostrils holes. His vocal cords vibrate around the ash and cinders constantly present in the back of his throat. “Move it closer.” Rising to your toes you smack your notebook on the glass. One large eye bares down unblinkingly. You wait as he mulls over your chicken scratch and notes scribbling in the ledgers. You stare back as the orange flames he exudes turn from a deep violet to an emerald green.

“It’s ok. You can tell me I’m stupid.” You pout eyeing the new color of his flames. After so long together you finally picked up on what color flame meant what. Bright white is anger. Blue is calm. Pink is embarrassed. Orange is neutral. And green, well, green is nothing short of smug. Satan laughs, the green flames ticking the windows around you in arching playful patterns. The deep timbers of his warm voice rumbling through the room.

“Not stupid- Mammon has that covered.” You shoot him a scathing look. He coughs looking away, his flames flashing pink. “ You’re just rushing.” He continues. “Here, you skipped a line in your calculations.” He points a sharp claw at the glass. “You need to erase up to there and edit. Shouldn’t take too long. After that do you want to work on the history lesson? That’s due tomorrow.”

You nod, already reworking the problem. He was right, as usual. The equation was much simpler than you initially thought.  “What chapters was it again?” You ask. Putting your notebook away, you dig through your bag for the history book you needed.  Satan grunts behind you shifting to settle back down to stretch out on the back patio. “Lucifer is going to strangle you.” You laugh turning to watch the stone flooring outside pop and crack under his intense heat.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Satan smiles, intentionally flaring up. The bushes and trees around him wilt and crumble into ash. Laughing along with him you sit back on the mound of pillows you had “borrowed” from Belphie’s room and crack open the large tome. The demon shifts his flames once more pulling them into himself and dimming them. Now his large body radiated a soothing orange. The flames peeking out in between the tiny cracks and holes in his body flicker like a candle.

The heat from his body always radiated differently when he did this. It was less of a centralized heat and now more of a full-body radiance. It reminded you of sunbathing in a park or tanning at the beach. You smile up at him in thanks and press your side into the warm glass wall. He mirrors you. His fingers tracing the glass where your hand rested in silence as you get comfortable. “I believe we were starting the fall of Rome. Lucifer and Mammon’s doing. A very clever execution of their powers if I do say so myself. ” Satan sighs pulling his hand back to rest in his lap.

“Oh? Was that praise for your brothers I hear?” You smirk flipping to the chapter.

“Just start reading the damn chapter.” He knocks on the glass in warning. You chortle ignoring his mock threat. “Laugh it up. But if you say a word to Lucifer I’ll singe your eyebrows.”

[theholycovenantrpg]

In the beginning was ABADDON, a DEMON loyal to the cause of the DEMONS. She is said to be IMMORTAL and uses SHE/HER pronouns. In this New Testament she serves as the KEEPER of the BLACK CELLS. Blessed be her name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

Her prowling grounds lie deep within the charred belly of Infernum’s Black Palace, in the company of traitors, usurpers, and demons with the blackest of hearts -- along with anyone whose whims are fickle enough to tip the controlled disorder of the realm into calamitous anarchy. Such prisoners find themselves dragged from the marble palace floors to rugged stone steps that spiral into a cyclical, winding void; along which they are tugged along beside rows of cells and arrays of reaching hands before finally hurtling to a stop at Abaddon’s feet. She is both their keeper and their guard; the captor and the caretaker, the whip and the commanding hand. The Black Cells are hers to govern and hers to employ; a slice of Hell as it is remembered within Hell as it has been remade, granting dominion that remains hers and hers alone. Beneath the watchful eye of the Conclave, Abaddon dedicates the cells to the service of its goals, with idle duties such as harboring prisoners and overseeing their sentences, and diabolical ones such as torture and interrogation. A mirror image of the home Abaddon had once found before the world was made anew, the Black Cells are her sanctuary, and she holds it so very closely.

THE HISTORY.

Her earliest memory was of a hand dipped into the vast, milky expanse of Heaven’s sky. A trail of the gaze along an elegant wrist, and the bones would shiver beneath the ageless skin; the tremor a whispered declaration of their belonging to the angel whose eyes they clung to. It always played out the same way, and it was always at the crucial moment when she leaned in to usher the words into her ear that Abaddon would remember. Those were her bones, that was her hand, and such had once been her life. It was all too easy for her to then lose herself in the ritual of remembrance; to sink into the scene plastered along the inside of her lids and relive it as though it was splayed out before her eyes. Her hand, tangled up in the shimmering mists of Heaven’s winds, stuck out in front of her while she lay, pressed against the pale stretch of sky as though it was close enough to touch. She would gently run it back and forth, like the caress of a palm over the eager ocean waves, caught in what felt like an eternity of wonderment before she was abruptly, inevitably, called away, gaze drawn towards the gathering of her fellow angels around God’s throne. She would rise, and then she would fly over and join the reverent cluster, eyes closed and neck arched around the gentle reverberations of her chants. Her beginning, after all, was that of an angel not unlike any other; the mark of an unexceptional existence that she had been all too content to keep -- and all too mournful to lose.

Upon first glance, one wouldn’t think to distinguish Abaddon from any other angel kneeling at God’s feet. She went through the same worshipful motions, bore the same selfless burden, and carried the same serene gleam in her eyes. Yet in reality, she didn’t belong nearly as readily as her monotonous image would portray. Among the angels, there was the devout and the disillusioned; those who had grown to scorn their ancient ways and He who had designed them, and those who were so entrenched in their devotion and obedience that they were buried far beyond any grasp on free will or independent thought. Abaddon, however, simply lingered along the divide. She was full to the brim with love and loyalty towards her Creator, yet not enough for it to drown out her identity and sense of choice. In the end, such was precisely what had driven God’s hand to pluck her off the boundary line -- only it did not cast her on either side. Instead, it hurled her into Hell as though she was just another one of Heaven’s soiled drippings to be licked up and swallowed. All because of a caring, criminal act of protection. All because of a vigorous, righteous strike at an angel cruel enough to torment another. How self-indulgent God was in his omnipotence, in his skewed, selective justice. Yet even so, Abaddon still trailed her hand along His as she fell.

Once anchored into a pale stretch of serenity, it was now flailing in search of purchase as Heaven’s glorious visage soared beyond her sight, its starkness melting into a cloying, all-encompassing blackness before slowly blooming into a scarlet backdrop as ashen as the scent of her tarnished wings. Abaddon landed in Hell, and all she did was look up and see God’s great eye peering through the half-dead sun that hung above. In the end, she still harbored nothing but love for Him, understanding as she was of the delicate balance she had upset with her actions, and fully trusting God’s judgement that she had been worthy of punishment. It settled within her like an ever-present organ, that love; rooted and thrumming with life as she carried it through her treks across Hell’s planes and her halts before Lucifer’s throne. It was an essential piece, a steady fixture; yet it was also an imposter, an abomination, nothing short of an anomaly in a realm with its very foundations steeped in the decay of devotion and the denunciation of divinity. Hell seemed to come alive in its wake, and no sooner had it gnashed its teeth and bared its claws that Abaddon began to wither away, succumbing to its predation with gradual, agonizing inevitability.

Blight gripped her across many centuries; what had begun as a plain numbness in the fingertips of one hand soon growing into an infestation of pestilence, the planes of her flesh ripe grounds for Hell’s punishment to plant itself, wrath morphing into rot as it ate its way towards the repellant core of light harbored within her heart. Yet for all its ravenous efforts, it never came close enough to sink its teeth in. The last dredges of Abaddon’s divinity persevered, and so did she, easing into her existence as a demon with the same serene strength that had propelled her eternity as an angel. She was made the Keeper of the Abyss, and granted the duty of guarding mortal souls as their torment languished along the limitless string of time. Even though she prospered as if she had always had a home in Hell, Abaddon was ruled by the tear that was slowly splitting its way up her arm and stabbing its fissured edges into the side of her neck; not entirely an angel, and not entirely a demon, but rather something in-between. She was half-rotten by the time Lucifer was vanquished and Hell was made anew, and so she never got to know which part of her would prevail. When she rose to Earth, she found herself right where she had been and somewhere entirely different, all at once; still tangled up along the split between both her halves, yet free to lean into one or the other if she so wished. With her rot hidden away beneath glamours and enchantments, with her dominion over the dead revived and restored, Abaddon was whole before the eyes. All that was left was for her to reach out her hand, and make the illusion a reality.

THE CONNECTIONS.

JUDAS, AZAZEL & DAMIEN WARD: Dynasty. She had sought a sanctuary in Hell, and she had found it. In the howling abyss she had watched over, in the chaotic company of her fellow demons -- yet Abaddon never felt as though she truly belonged until she had come upon the chosen few that had found their way into her torn heart. Now, even though she still clung to her foregone lifetime with as much love and longing as ever, she did not believe that her place within it was any more crucial than her place among these hellacious demons that she so fiercely adored. Their band had grown into vast renown in Hell, one that they had carried with ease into the New World; yet while Judas, Azazel, and Damien thrived on it and wielded their influence among the demons with the utmost wit and relish, Abaddon simply lingered on the outskirts and offered them brimming support on their endeavors. They brought a rare brand of hope and happiness into her existence that she had once believed was long lost, and she would cherish and protect it no matter the cost.

RAPHAEL: Shadow. It had burned him from within, to be among God’s favored, with stars and eternities in his grasp, and to find himself struck down in spite of it by a nameless, groveling angel. Abaddon could see it, the scorn that had instantly flitted through the murky timber of his eyes while he lay within the shrinking shadow of her descent, thrown back by the violent thrashing of her wings as she swooped in to come to his victim’s aide. She had known who he was, just as keenly as she had known his place and power within the circle of God’s arms -- and none of it had mattered to her. She could see nothing beyond the snare-trap of torment to which he had lured their fellow angel with relish; and she had chosen to stand against it. It was clear that Raphael still simmered in the ashes of that age-old offense, as he had been prowling around her relentlessly since the onset of the New World had brought her within his reach. He mistook her for prey, and in his mindless pursuit, neglected to guard his own exposed side. After all, she saw right through him, and she would not hesitate to strike him down a second time if pushed far enough.

ARAEL: Intrigue. It had been a rather curious thing, to find herself lashed with the blizzard-like current of an icy gaze, only to glimpse angelic wings beyond the dastardly draft. Though Abaddon was not intrigued by the notion of a cruel angel; after all, her lost brethren epitomized ruthlessness in her eyes. Rather it was the unexpected sight of an angel deep within the blackened belly of the infernal realm, with rage in her eyes and a heap of prey at her heel, which stirred Abaddon’s curiosity. It was quick to turn into sympathy, however, when she had cut into tongues to bring forth the blood-soaked answers that the angel demanded, and it had cast Abaddon against the edge of her great blade once Arael had sensed it. Although she hadn’t flinched nor faltered, Abaddon had regarded her differently since then; greeting her each time with sharp knowing and gentle understanding. Arael’s vigorous visits had dissipated over time, yet the memory of her still skirted through Abaddon’s thoughts. She had already played a part in the angel’s tale, and she longed to hear it in full.

DMITRI: Spark. One day, the Horsemen had acquired the use of the Black Cells for one of their operations, and as the caped specters drew close in eerie arrival, Abaddon’s gaze had clung to no visage other than Dmitri’s. His reputation preceded him, flowing behind him in waves of reverence and adoration leashed to the tender heart of his palms, yet it wasn’t until Abaddon felt their tangible ebb and flow for herself that she had begun to put stock in them. In that mindless, fleeting moment when her eyes had lingered on theirs amidst the flickering torches of the dungeon, something about Dmitri had called to her; a strange tug on her fissured core that she couldn’t help but be lulled by. Perhaps it was the air of tranquility that surrounded them both, so serene and fine-edged that it was almost lethal, or perhaps it was the gentle lilt of his words as he coaxed her into a quiet conversation -- or perhaps it all came down to nothing more than a brush of their influence. It did not matter, as Abaddon was convinced that she was not ensnared by him and instead, merely intrigued. Sometimes, however, she found herself wondering if she might end up being proven wrong, after all.

Abaddon is portrayed by Nazanin Boniadi and was written by JEN. She is currently TAKEN by MAI.

[spyderwomcn]

@ofhydrasward

Jess had a way of getting in over her head. Underwater was where she breathed the best, after all — so long as it wasn’t literal water. That tended to put a dampener on things considering her powers were electricity and being a spider with four less limbs. Clearly the super-villains she was facing off against had picked up on that particular Spider-Woman weakness during their fight at the docks, and she found herself sopping wet as she crawled out of the water for the third time in the past fifteen minutes.

“We heard a lot about you, Arachne,” one of the thugs called, his lips turning into a twisted smirk. “They say legends die the hardest, don’t they?”

Spitting some water onto the ground, Jess rose her fists. She might not have her special skill, but she had been trained by Hydra. She knew how to throw a punch, and take one. Just as she was about to make the first broken tooth, though, a shot rang out through the docks, causing the birds to fly off.

Jess blinked a few times, the guys in front of her dropping to the ground, their companions who had been merely spectators just as confused. Then, her eyes moved up to a familiar face. “Grant?” Jess said, but that’s all she could get out before she needed to dodge another shot, rolling on the ground to avoid ruining yet another costume.

[dxviated-old]

Very often are games like “shogi” or “chess” used as metaphors to explain the movement and progression of one’s plans. This would be a poor fit for the recent events that were unfolding in Lugunica. To say it was either of these simple board games would imply that the other player was working with the same pieces, that they had the same insight and same ability to stand against his machinations. No no no, this was much more one sided. To call it a game to begin with was almost misleading.

After all, how can it be a game if barely anyone knows that you exist? That you’re even playing?

The presumption of his new title. The reawakening of his apostle. The tormenting of the vagrant oni. The strategic ransack of villages in the rural countryside. The amassing of power and creation of his ‘pieces’ were so scattered, so indirect, that it would take a stroke of great fortune to connect them all together. The hows. The wheres. The whys. The foreign being knew them all and played everything close to where he kept what remained of his heart.

There may have been one person in this plane of reality keen to his existence, but even he doubted how keen she may be to the plan he was spinning. The steps he was taking to claim the vault of power that was secreted away in this kingdom. He wondered if they knew that even she, a witch, had taken steps to bring his plans to fruition. 

Ah how wonderfully the dominoes fell. Each beautiful piece of ivory pushing the next into motion. And now the greatest of harvests was ready to take place after what had been hundreds of years, a moment had made itself available. A moment that he had taken full advantage of with the sacrifice of barely any effort or danger on his part.

If there was one thing that Zeyrfial abhorred, it was senseless violence.

The town of Asten had been rocked by incredible power, the decaying host of the Heart of Despair now a decimated husk barely clinging to existence at the center of the market district. Any individuals who had woken from their state of despair or injury suddenly found themselves lulled into sleep as a thick mist roiled and saturated the entire town. As it billowed and encompassed the area it was like time itself had stood still. Ah, if only it were so. Zeyrfial and time had a rather curious relationship.

His entry would be considered casual were there anyone conscious to witness it. The demonic archbishop manifests from a rift in the mist as he steps out across what remained of the stonework in town. The town had seen some damage, the boy who had done his dirty work having done so quite haphazardly. Each step of leviathan-hide boots carries him closer to the heart, the lingering ache of despair hanging in the air.

Nothing left to feed upon. Nothing left to sustain itself. It was a shell of its former self within that corpse of a woman. It’s with pity in his eyes that he looks down upon the tattered remains as ichor-filled eyes turn and revolve to regard the entity.

“How good to see you again, old friend.”

There is no mercy or concern in his shadowed features despite the apparent connection he implied between them. He sweeps clear a place on the ground from blood, gore, debris, and ichor so that he can kneel closer, giving the other a piercing smile as they stare past those eyes into the true entity that lay beneath the host.

“I had warned you, had I not? That your freedom would only last so long. That you could only accomplish so much with these limitations. It’s a shame that I couldn’t just end this myself so long ago. I also told you that I am patient. And my forbearance now grants me you.”

He sweeps his cloak, the normally human like hand now cloaked in serpentine scales that ended in onyx talons. 

They dig only through the charred shell of the corpse, but into the ichor itself, seeping within the pool with that ever present smile on their features. The other’s inhuman eyes flare in anger, hate, they try to resist but they were rendered far too weak to do anything in the face of the man’s breadth of power.

There’s a pulse, a flurry of air, and where one moment the ichor and Despair were there, the next there was nothing. Just the hollowed and decimated corpse of the great healer once known as Eris. The mortal’s eyes clear of distortion, and for the briefest of moments she too perhaps experienced a light of freedom from the parasite that had consumed her. A final look up at the sunny sky before the lack of mana and decimated body sent her to a final slumber.

Eris, however, was of no interest to Zeyrfial. Her long awaited passing goes without witness, without care, with nobody in the world left to mourn her death. He stood from the now twice finished corpse, turning to admire the prize held within his grasp. A solid black tome with blackened pages and a liquid sheen to the cover. It pulses angrily, but a simple squeeze of the binding adds another set of wards to the book, icy white chains now binding through the cover and insetting themselves into the book, quelling the anger and forcing it into submission.

“Ahhhh, come now. You should be pleased with me, Hod, you may have not been able to claim that boy as your vessel, but I have been preparing something much more suitable to our needs. I’ll give you exactly what it is you seek, and I believe that eventually you will find it in yourself to thank me. And I will patiently await that day, my dear friend.”

He flips the book into the air, letting it vanish into mist as he too, disappears into nothingness, the mist and fog coming along with him. And only then, did Asten finally find peace that day.