#this is not a potential audience for them to tap

[memecatwings]

genuinely wish there was a way to take out my anger on corporations i want to shred netflix with my teeth if the executives of netflix were in front of me right now i would maul them all to death im about to go take a road trip to the netflix HQ to plant a bomb

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

Today on popping the corn and feeding the children, what do you folks think of this discussion? :)

I'm always curious to hear what other Trek fans, especially queer Trek fans, think about our place in Trek history and how we fare as the queer participants within our fandom. What have your experiences been like?

Overwhelmingly I've found a great reception and a welcoming attitude, but I admit that has increased considerably since the 90s. However, there are still some Trek fans who seem to be vehemently in denial about queer history in Star Trek, or the fact that anyone who has worked on Trek has pro-LGBT attitudes. This always surprises me considering some of the blatant queer content we have already seen in Star Trek such as the Jadzia Dax and Lenara Kahn kiss.

Anyway, I enjoyed the discussion that followed and seeing the overwhelming outpouring of support coming from Star Trek fans in response to this thread.

Here was my two cents contribution:

"No, what they said was factual.

Have you forgotten Nichelle Nichols was indeed an African American woman in the core seven bridge crew back in 1966?

Or the fact that Gene Roddenberry went out of his way to write The Motion Picture Novel, creating the term "T'hy'la: friend, brother, lover" so that fans could choose which interpretations of Kirk and Spock they saw fit? He also embraced K/S fans and hired a number of them to write the earliest Star Trek novels, including the very first official one (The New Voyages Vol. 1 & 2) which included slash fiction as well as Gene's approval/forward in the books.

In case anyone has forgotten, here's a little bit of background on Gene Roddenberry and his perspectives on queerness in Star Trek.

He admitted that in his early life he was very affected by how society and culture treated the LGBT community, and that he too found himself subjugating and judging others for that lifestyle because it was what people did at that time. As he got older and had more life experience, he began working with a number of queer artists in Hollywood -- and through TOS, a number of queer individuals began asking questions about Kirk and Spock.

Instead of vehemently shutting down this perspective, Roddenberry was intrigued, and saw potential to tap into a large audience (LGBT) that most others didn't want to go near or acknowledge publicity-wise. He saw it as an opportunity to expand the fanbase while also pushing yet another envelope.

But with the heat already on the show for what they'd already pushed, he found he was often stuck between what he'd like to do and what production would let him get away with. There are a number of Kirk and Spock scenes in scripts that got cut out for leaning a little too obviously romantic. Tiny trickles of that content still made it in were infamous moments like the backrub scene in Shore Leave. Even the 2009 movie had a K/S moment while Spock Prime and Kelvin Spock talked that was written and filmed that was cut out of the final product.

Queer subtext and coding has always been relentlessly weeded away at with an excuse ready to go for why they always try to cut us out, but we all know it's because they are scared of the homophobic backlash and ratings hits. Look how violently homophobes went after the gay romance episode of The Last of Us **just this year**. This has always been our reality, so for someone like Roddenberry to make efforts in the 70s? That was massive.

But Gene as well as the queer/slash Trek community managed to accomplish some things in the 70s which I'm surprised more folks don't talk about or give much credit.

In the same TMP novel which features "T'hy'la" and the famous footnote, Gene cleverly wrote Kirk with a bisexual/pansexual lens: Kirk describes himself as *preferring* women but being open to "physical love in **any** of its many Earthly, alien, and mixed forms." (Direct quote from Genes book). Basically, Captain Kirk was DTF with whoever if there was a connection, which was a very progressive take for a character in a novel written in 1979, but made sense for the future which would have a lot less hang ups about sex and love compared to our current rather puritan/conservative society.

I also prefer women, but I married a man. Shout out to Gene Roddenberry for giving us a seat at the table back in the 70's when folks *still* try to insist there is no place for K/S or queer concepts in Trek, because he made efforts -- however small -- to employ queer people and show queer perspectives. According to David Gerrold, LGBT+ representation was a big thing that Gene personally pushed for in TNG and wanted various depictions of love/couples in the Risa scenes, to name one example.

In the 70s, fanzines led to meetings and swapped fanmade magazines, which got so big that they needed hotel centers, then convention centers, then one day the TOS cast came to one and what we know as modern fan conventions were born -- inspiring even George Lucas who attended Trek conventions in the 70s and saw how popular Trek was in syndication; it was a great climate to launch his Space Opera. Star Wars then became so huge that we got TMP.

But none of that would have happened without the level of organization, passion, and creativity that those fans poured into Star Trek and their characters after it got cancelled and went into syndication.

Without queer folks we wouldn't have George Takei, Theodore Sturgeon who gave us Tribbles, Bill Theiss and his amazing TOS costumes, Mike Minor's art direction, Merritt Butrick, David Gerrold (writer for TOS, TAS, TNG) to name a few of many queer contributors to Trek that Roddenberry respected and tried to go to bat for wherever he could in a climate that was absolutely impossible to gain an inch in.

At a time during the 70s and 80s when so many people resented and feared the queer community and wanted us to disappear, especially in the 80s during the AIDS epidemic which many homophobes claimed was "God's punishment to the gay community" or "Gods's answer" to our "hedonism", thinking we'd gotten our just desserts and should just disappear . . .

During that time, Gene Roddenberry gave us queer folks a place to say: "You know what? Sure. Write your stories. TV says you guys shouldn't exist, they pull books with queer people off the shelves and burn them. Laws exist specifically to forbid you guys from loving each other, and call you mentally ill. You can't even hold hands in public. But I'm going to validate you guys and invite you to write novels or work for me, try to see what we can get by production, and allow you to see yourselves in my characters if you want to. There's a place for you in our fandom."

He gave us bi/pan Kirk, he gave us K/S is open to interpretation. In Phase 2 Kirk's surviving nephew Peter, son of his brother Sam from Operation: Annihilate!, was going to be written as gay and living on the Enterprise with his partner -- that also got chopped and reworked into a script that wouldn't get used until decades later. That was huge at a time that being queer was officially listed as a mental illness, and villainized due to the AIDS crisis.

So before you try to dismiss or tell K/S + queer Trek fans whether or not they deserve a seat at the table, remember that Gene Roddenberry was among the **first** to pull that seat out for us in a climate that was ruthlessly against LGBT+ folks." -- 1Shirt2ShirtRedShirtDeadShirt

P.S: Have some cute bisexual/pansexual K/S pride gifs. :) Pride month is a hop, skip and a jump away.

LLAP!🖖💚

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9

MDNI----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, brightest member

warnings: implied smut, evelyn annoying the fuck out of hotch

Chapter Eight:

The coffee machine gurgled in the quiet of the break room as Evelyn filled her cup, her hands carefully cradling her favorite pink mug as the steam raised in delicate swirls. The rich aroma of the freshly brewed substance wafted through the air, Evelyn was moments from savoring her first sip when Spencer made his entrance. 

He moved with an awkward grace, his lean frame wrapped in a sweater, the morning light casting a scholarly glow on his thoughtful expression. Evelyn took a moment, as she often did, to admire the earnest curiosity etched into his features. She pivoted gracefully, a playful glint in her eye, the corners crinkling in silent laughter.

"Morning, Dr. Reid," she chimed. "Joining me for the most important meal of the day?"

Spencer offered a small, hesitant grin, casting a wary glance over his shoulder as if anticipating an unwelcome audience. When he turned back, finding the coast clear, his gaze couldn't help but sweep over her, a slow, involuntary trail from her eyes down to her heels and back up again.

"Did you know caffeine can actually increase cortisol levels?" Spencer inquired, his tone shifting to that of a lecturer as he warmed to the subject. "Cortisol is secreted by the adrenal glands and plays a critical role in regulating various bodily functions. While it's essential for survival, elevated cortisol over prolonged periods can lead to a host of issues. So, while that cup of coffee might seem like a good idea, it's worth considering the potential endocrine implications."

Evelyn closed the distance between them with a playful step, her eyes gleaming. "I love when you talk nerdy to me, Dr. Reid," she started. "But if you deprive me of my morning coffee, I won't be the only ones suffering the consequences."

Spencer's hand reaches out, almost involuntarily giving Evelyn's ass a quick, teasing tap. She arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a feigned expression of shock. 

"In the workplace, Dr. Reid?" Evelyn chided, her voice laced with mock scandal.

Spencer's chuckle was a soft counterpart to the florescent hum of the break room. Evelyn stood there, the light catching the subtle highlights in her hair, her smartly tailored suit accentuating her figure.

"Speaking of which, and presuming your neurons are adequately myelinated for the day, how about those ground rules?" Spencer's question came with a half-smile.

"I'm going to pretend for a second that myelinated is part of my daily vocabulary," Evelyn retorted with a playful roll of her eyes. "Upstairs is all clear," she tapped her temple for emphasis before taking another step towards the genius, "but after last night, I can't say the same for downstairs."

Spencer cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck as memories of the previous night flickered through his mind. "Don't start with me."

"Me? Start with you? Never," she said, her eyes dancing with humor. "But in all seriousness. This," she gestured between them, "stays between us. We can't do anything here."

She straightened up, her expression mock serious. "I'm already juggling enough with these legacy rumors. If I start adding 'sleeping with my mentor' to my resume, I'll need to write a survival guide."

Spencer's response was quick. "I can do that," he said, his eyes accusing. "As long as you behave."

"I'm always on my best behavior, sir," she declared with a sly smile, her voice trailing off as she sauntered out of the break room, "my place or yours tonight?"

Spencer's hand instinctively went to the bridge of his nose, squeezing gently as if to ward off an impending headache, the universal gesture of a man both charmed and utterly undone by the woman before him.

--

The tech lab was alive with whirring machines and the subtle glow of displays. Evelyn glided into the room, her steps light and her grin spreading. 

The hum of computers and the soft glow of screens set the backdrop as Evelyn breezed into the tech lab, her steps light and her smile wide. She found Garcia, the queen of all things digital, her dominion sprawling before her in an array of flickering pixels and streaming data.

"Hey, P! Need your magic fingers to trace a number for me. And maybe sprinkle a little of that fairy dust to make the results come faster." Evelyn says with a lighthearted twinkle.

With a flourish, Garcia twirled in her chair, her clothes a riot of color that defied that room's monochrome sterility. She peered at Evelyn over the top of her pink-rimmed glasses, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

"Sweetie, you're radiating more energy than my entire tech setup. What's got you bouncing off the walls? Extra shot of your coffee or just high on life?" Penlope questioned, her voice laced with humor as she watched Evelyn practically vibrating through the room.

"What? No, I'm not. It's just a good day, that's all," Evelyn laughed, the sound bubbling up effortlessly.

Garcia tilted forward, a teasing glint in her gaze. "Uh-huh. You can't fool me, Miss Sunshine. You've got that 'I just got laid' glow," she pushed, "spill it. Who's the lucky guy?"

"Garcia, quit it," she giggled, brushing off the insinuation with a wave of her hand. "There's no guy. Just... work stuff, you know?"

But Garcia remained skeptical, playfully wagging a finger bedecked with a glittering ring. "Oh, come on! You've got that look. The one that says, 'I did not get my eight hours, but boy, was it worth it.'"

Laughter spilled from Evelyn, a rich sound that reverberated against the walls. "Seriously, Penelope, drop it. I'm just happy. Can't a girl have a good day without an interrogation?"

Garcia shot her a knowing glance, but she conceded with an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, alright. I'll let you off the hook... for now. But I've got my eye on you. Now what's this number you need traced?"

Evelyn passed a slip of paper across the table, her grin unwavering. She offered a swift thanks and retreated to the bustling bullpen. 

Evelyn's desk was a splash of color in the otherwise muted tones of the bullpen. Pink post-its fluttered like flags, each scrawled with affirmations and tiny tributes to her teammates. Amidst this cheerful chaos, Hotch stood, his hands clasped behind him as he surveyed the landscape of girlish whimsy.

At the sight, Evelyn's steps hastened, she darted forward to intercept his gaze, positioning herself squarely before him. "Hotch, sir, hi! Can I help you with something?"

Hotch met her gaze, his eyebrow lifted in mild inquiry, the shadow of a smile on his face. "I was looking for the Simmons report. You were supposed to turn in it yesterday." He tried to peer around her, amusement flickering in his eyes at the sight of her cluttered workspace. 

His eyes settled on the pen holder, an extravagant display of sparkle and faux gems. He remarked with dry wit, "Does that... fit the bureau's decor standards?"

Evelyn's smile was unapologetic as she shrugged lightly. "Mm, probably not. But it brightens up the place don't you think?" She rifled through the stack of papers, her face a canvas of sheepish charm. "About that report... I, uh, totally forgot. But it will be done, pinky promise."

She extended her pinky towards him. Hotch regarded the small gesture, his features betraying no reaction. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, but his stance was unwavering. "I'm not going to do that," he declared, eyes flicking to her upheld finger. "I expect the report on my desk by the end of the day."

Evelyn snapped to attention, grin never faltering. "Aye, aye, captain," she chimed cheerfully. "You'll have it before you can say 'bureaucracy'."

With a parting nod, he moved back to his office. In the corner, Morgan, JJ, and Prentiss stood in a tight knot, their quiet conversation floating in the air near the water cooler. 

"There's no way," Morgan asserted, his head moving in a firm denial, his eyes reflecting staunch disbelief.

"I told you soooo," Prentiss crooned, her voice dripping in smug satisfaction.

"Huh?" Evelyn's question hung in the air as she swiveled towards the group, her eyebrow arching in a silent demand for clarity. "What are you talking about?" 

"There's an ongoing bet to see how long it'll take you to really get in trouble with Hotch," JJ confesses, her grin spreading as she looked towards the other.

Evelyn's voice rose in protest. "What? I do get in trouble!" she insisted. "Did you not just see that? Or when I went rogue on my first takedown?"

Prentiss let out a soft chuckle, her eyes meeting Morgan's knowingly. "Please that was 'Evie trouble.' It's like being scolded by a teddy bear."

"And what does that even mean?" Evelyn asked, her laughter rising through the room as she shook her head.

"Baby girl, your definition of trouble with Hotch is a lot different than ours," Morgan said with a playful wag of his finger. "You barely get a slap on the wrist, while we'd get the whole paddle," he teased.

"That is so not true!" Evelyn's giggle bubbled up uncontrollably, her shoulders bouncing with each note of disbelief. She playfully rolled her eyes, dismissing the notion with a shake of her head.

As if summoned by the very topic, Rossi and Reid appeared in the doorway. They caught the end of the conversation and, with impeccable timing, chimed in together, "It's true."

"If I forgot my paperwork, I'm pretty sure I'd be relegated to coffee duty for a month--minimum," Spencer said as he gave a small, resigned shrug. 

"I'll have you know, I can get into trouble," she declared, puffing up in feigned offense. "I'm always getting under Hotch's skin."

Skepticism was written all over their faces, each look a playful jab at the very ideas. "Oh, we're sure you're a regular rebel," Morgan said, his tone heavy with irony.

"Yeah, right. They day you get a real scolding is the day I'll dye my hair pink," Prentiss declared, her laughter softening the edges of her sarcasm.

"And I'll wear a feather boa to work," Rossi added, the twinkle in his eyes suggesting he found the image as ludicrous as it sounded. 

"Statistically speaking, Evelyn, the probability of you inciting Hotch's ire is remarkably low," Spencer articulated, his brows furrowing in thought. "Considering the standard deviation of workplace interactions, it's more probably likely for an asteroid to graze our atmosphere."

Evelyn rolls her eyes, taking their words as a challenge. "We'll see about that."

Noon struck, and with it, a cast of golden rays pierced through the blinds of Hotch's office, painting the surfaces with a light hue of daylight. Evelyn, her arms cradling a stack of tardy documents, sauntered into the room. Her hair, a cascade of chestnut waves, framed her face, and her eyes, sharp as flint, scanned the room.

"Special delivery!" The announcement echoed off the walls, as Evelyn, framed by the doorway, held the papers aloft like a trophy. "The prodigal paperwork returns." Her smile was a bright flash in the subdued light.

The click of the mouse ceased as Hotch's gaze lifted slowly from the computer, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts. "Thank you, Evelyn," he uttered, each word measured. "I was beginning to think it had gone into witness protection."

The room was filled with the sound of Evelyn's giggle as she perched against the doorframe. Her smirk was a playful twist of her full, rose-tinted lips. "Oh, you know me. I like to keep things interesting. Life's too short for bureaucracy. "

Hotch's fingers moved methodically through the stack, each page turning with a crisp snap. His eyes, sharp and calculating, never strayed as he spoke. "Interesting isn't quite the Bureau's motto. We prefer efficiency."

"And yet, here I am, brightening your day with my inefficiency," she teased.

The folder landed softly on the desk as Hotch straightened, his gaze piercing as it met Evelyn's. "Evelyn, is there something else you needed?"

"Just checking on my favorite unit chief," she declared with a shrug, "making sure you're not bored under a mountain of dullness."

Hotch's eyes took on a sharper focus, an almost accusatory gaze. "I'm quite capable of digging myself out, thank you," he stated, the hint of a smile lurking beneath his serious expression. "Now, if there's nothing else, I have work to do."

Evelyn's smirk was unwavering, a silent ally as she acknowledged his words with a graceful nod. "Of course, sir. Duty calls."

--

The bullpen thrummed with life, agents weaving through the maze of desks, papers shuffled, and phones rang, the air buzzing with the collective focus. Evelyn's presence was a silent counterpoint, a different mission in mind. Her fingers sifted across the documents in front of her. With a feigned slip of the hand, she accidentally exchanged the contents of two folders. As she handed Hotch the Thompson report, masquerading as the Henderson case, she could barely contain her amusement.

Evelyn glanced up at Hotch with feigned surprise, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "Oh, did those get mixed up? That's totally on me," she said, her voice dripping with faux contrition as she sat perched on the edge of her chair.

Hotch's hand clasped around the correct folder, his gaze drifting across Evelyn's features, a wordless pause hanging in the air. It was a look that lingered just a beat too long before he finally looked away.

With a serene composure, Hotch handed back the folder, his words deliberate and clear. "Please double-check your work in the future." 

"Absolutely, won't happen again, sir," Evelyn responded.

Watching Hotch disappear behind his office door, Prentiss and JJ, couldn't help but shake their heads. "You are playing with fire."

With a playful toss of her hair, Evelyn responded, "It's what I do best." Her wink sailed across the room to the women as she swiveled back to her desk.

Later, she sent Hotch on a wild goose chase for a non-existent file. Hotch reappeared, the absence of the file evident in his empty hands and the slight crease of annoyance on his brow. His irritation was barely veiled by his professional composure and the sight stirred a warmth across her cheeks and spread through her. It was as if the air had thickened, her body responding with a clench of her thighs. 

Evelyn snapped her attention back to her task, letting out an exaggerated gasp, her eyes widening with feigned realization.

Evelyn's eyes lifted to meet Hotch's, a flutter of her lashes accentuating her apology. "Oh, my mistake. It's actually for next week's briefing. My apologies, sir."

A collective gaze tracked Hotch, the team's faces etched with a blend admiration and disbelief at the boldness. Hotch's head shook slightly as he closed the door behind him. 

With a subtle lean, Morgan caught Rossi's attention, a smirk playing on his lips. "You seeing this, Rossi?" he asked, his voice low, carrying the weight of disbelief.

"Hard to miss," Rossi mused, "she's got guts, I'll give her that," he admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile, "but she's doing a great job of proving our point."

"Hey," Evelyn's whisper was a soft accusation, a conspiratorial murmur that barely reached between the three of them. "Just you wait, I've got more up my sleeve."

With a gentle head shake that sent his curls swaying, Spencer loomed over her desk. "At this rate," he said, looking down at her with an amused glint in his eye, "you're going to need your own section in the employee handbook."

--

The bullpen fell into an abrupt hush, the agents' heads turning as Hotch's commanding tone sliced through the idle banter. Without missing a beat, he looked eyes with Evelyn. "Gideon, my office. Now."

The team's eyes flickered from one to another, the collective oooh sounding more like a drawn-out sigh as Evelyn got to her feet. The air seemed to still as she offered a nod, her face the picture of innocence. With a gentle tilt of her head, she responded sweetly. "Of course, sir."

Hotch stood behind his desk, the stern set of his jaw softening despite his best efforts. His words came with struggle, weighted with disappointment rather than anger. "This isn't like you, Evelyn. Misplacing evidence is a serious offense."

With eyes wide and innocent, Evelyn held her poise, her hands neatly folded in front of her. "I'm so sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

The room felt smaller as Hotch sighed, his authoritative demeanor dissolving into a softer, more approachable one. His voice lowered, tinged with an unexpected warmth. "What's going on with you today?"

"Hotch," Evelyn burst out, the playful strain in her voice belying the seriousness of her words. "I've been an absolute terror today--don't I deserve a better scolding that that? Everyone thinks you go easy on me."

Hotch's eyes sharpened, the hint of annoyance seeping through his demeanor. "So that's what this has been about? You've been testing my patience all day because of what--some office wager?"

Evelyn watched, a spark of mischief in her eyes as Hotch's composure began to fray. The fabric of his suit jacket tensed, subtly outlining the firm set of his shoulders. His jaw worked silently, a clear sign of his growing irritation, a detail she found inexplicably enthralling. 

"See, right there!" she exclaimed, her finger jabbing the air with theatrical emphasis. "That's what I'm talking about--that's the look!"

A barely perceptible quirk of his lips betrayed him. "You're unbelievable."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled with sheer desperation shimmering within. "Hotch, can you please--pretty please--pretend to yell at me? I need to win this bet."

"At this point, Evelyn, I don't think I need to pretend."

She offered him a pout, her lower lip protruding just so, a silent plea.

He exhaled a deep sigh, a reluctant white flag. "Fine. Shut the door."

"Thank you, thank you!" Evelyn sang out, her mind already racing ahead. "Oh, wait, I need to look scared, right?" She whirled around, her hand hovering over the door handle as she caught the team's collective gaze, wide and expectant, peering through the blinds.

Hotch positioned himself with his back to the window, his silhouette casting a commanding shadow across the room. With a flourish, he gestured towards the scattered paperwork on his desk, his voice booming just enough to be heard through the glass.

Evelyn's lip caught between her teeth, an effort to rein in the giggles that bubbled over. Her shoulders trembled, betraying her struggle as she dipped her head, a strategic move to conceal from the curious glances beyond the glass.

"Evelyn, you're terrible at this."

"I-I know, I'm sorry," she sputtered between fits of laughter. "But I think they bought it."

"I doubt it."

"You're the best boss ever, Hotch," Evelyn beamed.

Hotch's head gave a slow shake, the barest hint of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

"Too much if I cry on the way out?" she teased, feigning distress as she inched towards the door.

"Just go, Agent."

--

The day was winding down with the low hum of the office, Evelyn glided through the bullpen, her smirk as loud as the click of her heels. She tossed a bag onto Prentiss's desk, the contents clicking softly. The bag, clear and plastic, revealed the pink hair dye inside.

Evelyn leaned closer, the bag crinkling between them. "For your new look, Em," she teased with a wink. "I want to see a brand-new you by tomorrow."

Prentiss examined the dye, eyebrow raised in playful defiance. "Dream on, Evie," she chuckled. "This going in your Secret Santa gift."

Next the feather boa found its new home around Rossi's neck, courtesy of Evelyn's hands. "This is non-negotiable, Rossi," she declared. "Your suit needs a touch of pizzazz."

"But let's be real, Evie," Morgan chuckled. "You didn't really win the bet, did you?"

Evelyn gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Whaaaatt?" she uttered. "I have absolutely no idea what you're implying."

"Oh, come on," Emily scoffed, "we all know what Hotch looks like when he's chewing someone out. And that, my friend, was a performance worthy of an Oscar."

Evelyn's eyes widened, her act faltering under the team's knowing looks. "Oh! You know, I-I totally forgot, I have that thing I was totally supposed to do."

--

Evelyn was in her own world, surrounded by the familiar end-of-day bustle. As she slid her laptop into its case, her phone chimed--her eyes lit up, a smile curving subtly as she read the message from Spencer: My place. 8 pm.

Evelyn's gaze lifted, catching Spencer's eye across the room, a knowing look shared between them. She typed her response with haste: I'll be there. No sooner had she done so than Hotch's voice sliced through the buzz of the office. "Evelyn, my office."

She breezed in, her retort poised on her lips. "You didn't call me in here to actually yell at me, did you? Because, despite popular belief, I'm about as good with confrontation as a cat is with a bathtub. I'd probably start crying, it'd be this whole thing, and--"

"Evelyn." Hotch's voice was firm, a verbal full stop that demanded attention.

"Right. What's up?"

"Miami. Next week. A conference on behavior analysis," he began. "I want you there, presenting your research on the correlation between language patterns and criminal behavior."

"A paid trip to the beach? Count me in!" Evelyn squealed.

Hotch's reply came as a dry gust. "This is a business trip, Evelyn. Not a vacation."

She nodded, her grin undiminished. "Sorry, what? My mind's already sunbathing in Miami," she teased, twirling on her heel.

"Oh, and Evelyn?"

"Mhm?"

"The team's right," he confessed. "Don't let it go to your head."

next

taglist: @nonamevenus@aceofspades190

[ltngerbniak]

As much as I love the Fallout show (which is a lot), one of my least favorite things is that it perpetuates what Bethesda really considers Fallout, not what it is.

Instead of what the Fallout world had grown from in Fallout 1, (i.e. Vault City, New Vegas, Shady Sands, the economies between those, the Great Khans, and all the hallmarks of Fallout) the TV show sort of regresses to what Fallout 1 was about. From 2181 to 2296, when the show takes place, we've moved all the way back to square one. I'm not as upset about this as other people, but I believe that it makes for a rather uninteresting story. It is a story for newcomers, in actuality. What would have been more narratively interesting is that Lucy, who had previously believed the surface was completely barren and dead, discovers the New California Republic, a great monument of democracy, something that she recognizes, instead of a whole new world she's dumped into.

Of course, this is challenging to explain to newcomers to the Fallout series, but when Lucy quite literally is the audience surrogate, and it's her first time learning about the NCR, it would still make sense to new viewers. It would have been much better if Lucy and the vault dwellers realized that there was a whole new America up there, not just a wasteland with Moldaver and her (admittedly scant) force of raiders. It would be more narratively interesting that Lucy comes across the NCR while it is alive and kicking, not remnants of the survivors from the surface. It would also be more intriguing to some one new, to see what looks like rangers, soldiers, politicians, farmers, and regular people, in a veritable country of its own, instead of a leftover flag in a school room.

In that sense, Fallout has quite simply regressed. Bethesda has made the post-postapocalypse that was so interesting in 1997, into a simple wasteland story. In 100 years, the world of Fallout has been wiped clean. And not for a very narratively satisfying one in the grand scheme of things. Ulysses, in Fallout: New Vegas wants to launch a nuclear arsenal onto both the NCR and the Legion in order to wipe the world clean, in order to create something truly new, not tied down by the Old World. In the show, however, Hank blows up Shady Sands to either a) get back at his wife, and/or b) to further Vault-Tec's plans. That says so much less about the world of Fallout than what had happened in its past.

I'm sad to see Fallout's southwest story go, mostly because there was so much lost potential. It could have been so much more gut-wrenching if Shady Sands was blown up at the end of the series, instead of prior. It would have tied in visually with the beginning, too, since Cooper sees the bombs fall in 2077, and Lucy's fake sky in the vault burning up. That might gum up Maximus' story, what with him being from Shady Sands, but he could have been stolen, not saved, by the Brotherhood, though that might be too evil for them.

Imagine it, it would be the epitome of the fears Fallout taps into. That the world, old and new, could end with a push of a button. Twice over. Three times over. Four. However long it takes for someone to save the world. But then again, they always disagree on how.

[malehypnofantasy]

Aside from Casey, millions of people celebrated their birthday on the same day as him. Some of them celebrated the exact same 21st birthday like Casey. But only one of them also gained the revelation of his power that day, and he's not hesitating to try it on to the masses right away

Jens is working front desk in the local gym of his small hometown just a couple hour away south of Stockholm. He didn't need any messenger whatsoever to work on his power as he's been listening to his family about their respective power when they reached 21 years of age. Jens just tapped into his enhanced inner self right when the clock hit midnight and realized that mind control is his power. He smirked as he jumped from his bed right away and started to affect all his slumbering family member with his power, turning them into bunch of normies as he rewired their brain to never remember about magic whatsoever. His mom would be able to counter such move if only she woke up at that time and started to create protection from Jens magic for everyone in the family, yet she's too tired after preparing all the things needed to celebrate Jens birthday. After practically killing his family by making them normal, he simply walked back to bed, excited for the sun to shine quickly

The birthday surprise turned out to be quite nice and Jens enjoyed it very much, especially with his older siblings unable to ruin it with their powers anyway and just genuinely be happy for him. After all the hubbubs, Jens said goodbye to his family as he headed to the gym to start the execution of his plan

The gym is not necessarily crowded in the early morning, so Jens worked with whoever audience that is already available inside the gym. Without even speaking or anything, a simple eye contact is enough to freeze his target. He's slightly drained from making sure all his family member's mind altered, so he needed this extra step of eye contact for now until his whole power recharged. The first target, Erik quickly forced to stand up straight, his gasping breath instantly normalized as his whole body conditioned to be relaxed yet firm.

Jens then started his rewriting process, infiltrating Erik's mind and rearranging it as he wished. After around a minute, Jens controlled Erik to sit down and then just for the fun of it, start jacking his dick off while Jens continued his round of takeover.

Matthias witnessed the weird interaction and rough transition of Erik from being exasperated to then froze off before jacking his own dick in the middle of the gym, but he's directly in the eyesight of Jens so he also quickly froze, his slack-jawed gaping mouth forced to close by Jens as he doesn't want to get distracted while rewriting Matt's brain

The muscle freak is an owner of an "intelligence-led security company" or basically paramilitary troopers and Jens saw certain potential from him, so a meeting will be set later on the day by Matthias with all of his employees attending the meeting where Jens will do his specialty, hopefully recharged and ready to create further mess and expand his control by that time

Not only Matthias, his working out buddy and spotter, Anton, also frozen as soon as his eyes met Jans eyes.

The former Captain in Swedish Army succumbed all the state secrets within his mind as Jans sees fit while Jans also explored everything that exist within. Jens smirked upon seeing the loving memories of the captain's family, which he quickly erased as he then planted this idea that Anton is nothing but a cum slut for Matthias which Matthias exploited really well for the benefit of his company. Matthias is also the one that dragged Anton to work under Jens service, and it's not like he can say no when his master told him to. It's a rather twisted approach that he took, but Jens cannot help himself but laughing on the irony of it all as Anton used to be sleeping with Matthias ex-girlfriends and were the one causing Anton remaining single until now. Guess he bring karmic redsitribution right away for the douchebag Anton rather than waiting for universe to punish him much later

Nils Andreesen (L), Jakob Ericsson (R) and William Gustafsson (B) also fell victim to Jens mind control as they were in the gym already by the time Jens started his rewriting process with Erik. Jakob is the Vice-Mayor and Jens already proposed several regulation and procedure which Jakob will enforce after his gym session finished and the time to works started. A townhall is also requested by Jens to be held the following week, where he will demonstrate the power he has in an even-larger scale

Based on Nils memories, a guy is already inside the locker room as he came early to the gym. It's the gym owner's son, Leo, and with Leo being in the inner circle of the Prime Minister daughter as he went to the same uni as her and used to fuck her until last winter, taking him over becomes important. Jens rushed himself to the locker room and then quickly searched for Leo. Much to his luck, Leo haven't left the gym premise so he quickly shouted on top of his lung by calling Leo's name. Leo turned around and that was the start of his downfall as he just froze all in a sudden.

Wasting no time, Jens quickly built the basic narrative he built in to everyone that they are nothing but Jens loyal servant and will do anything for him and his satisfaction. And then, upon realizing that Leo is in a call, he let Leo returned to normal for a quick second, ended the call and proceed with the rewriting of Leo's mind.

"We are a very tight-knit bro ever since we were kids. I'm your closest friend and you share everything to me, your sadness, your anger, your pain, even your own free-will. You are nothing but a putty little bitch everytime there's only the two of us, and you are so eager to please me. Heck, you always love to sniff and lick my sweat after my workout right? In fact, that's why you are still here, because you are patiently waiting for me to come and give you your morning nutrient. So, in the count of three, you'll start licking me and worshipping my body until I tell you to stop, okay? One, two, three,"

Leo's dark brooding eyes quickly turned hungry and filled with lust as he's positioned on his knee while Jens sweaty body towered over him, showing him who's the boss in the situation and why Leo is nothing but a dutiful servant to fulfill all Jens desired. As the sweat dropped from Jens chin right to the confined erection beneath his black sweatpants, Leo then goes to town with his tongue as his hand started to slide down Jens pants while sniffing and licking Jens crotch intimately

This is just the beginning of Jens utopia, and he's nowhere near finish

[my-mt-heart]

Thoughts on TBOC 205

Aside from the premiere, this was the easiest episode for me to watch, but at the same time, the tone and the characterization feel...off. As usual, my thoughts are based on a one-time pirated watch. Also as usual, Melissa McBride crushes her performance. If only she had been given stronger material...

I mentioned in my 204 "review" that Daryl's and Carol's dynamic felt like that of a divorced couple and I'm still feeling that here. Daryl is clearly offended by the hypothetical idea of Carol telling Ash that he was her brother and insists that he be with Carol when she talks to him. Carol is clearly uncomfortable when a dancer gets too close to Daryl at the nightclub (side note: Carol's reaction to the nightclub has a lot of storytelling potential that Zabel instead uses to draw the male gaze. Unsurprising, but still disheartening). What does Caryl's "divorced" energy mean exactly? Nothing if Zabel doesn't pay it off and unfortunately I don't think he ever intends to. We need a new showrunner for that.

Daryl's surprised reaction to Sophia is just ridiculous to me. He's always been incredibly in tune with Carol's feelings—that's what makes them soulmates—and he just saw her struggling in front of a barn in the last episode. He really can't put the pieces together? And why is Daryl acting so far removed? As if Sophia isn't his trauma too? I'll talk about this more for 206, but I strongly dislike how Zabel tries build up to Daryl finally comforting her the way he should have immediately, and would have if he was in character. It's completely unnecessary and it robs the characters/audience of true emotional growth.

Carol notices a man on a bike that reminds her of the Daryl she watched ride away from the CW, like she's still searching for that Daryl, and it breaks my heart. She starts seeing Sophia too, but again, Daryl can't be there for her because he's preoccupied with thoughts of a child he's known for two months. Naturally Carol tries to be there for him, and at first he tells her he doesn't want to talk about it. Since when does Daryl not feel safe being vulnerable with Carol? Why is he so closed off? I can't wrap my head around it.

In typical Zabel fashion, Laurent is used as a mouthpiece to shove Isabelle's "love" for Daryl down the audience's throats despite the fact that Clemence never played it that way once. I really need the stooges and the supporting characters to stop projecting onto Daryl. They are all just wrong.

Carol listens to Daryl’s recording he made in S1 and I’m not sure what the point of it is since he already told her last episode that he was trying to get back to her. You know what would’ve been more interesting? If the recording revealed something new that the audience hasn’t heard yet and surprised Carol as well, like Daryl addressing her specifically, telling her how much he loved her.

When shots of the car scene cropped up in teasers, it was heavily speculated that Ash would die. I'm glad the scene subverted my expectations and actually tapped into some humor, but the whole thing also highlights Zabel's sloppy writing. How did this man survive the ZA this long if he can't even shut a door without hurting himself? And why, once he's fully conscious again, does he not comment on Daryl's and Carol's relationship? If Carol was willing to manipulate him just to find this other guy, what does that say about who Daryl is to Carol? Is Ash not suspicious or at the very least curious? It's another example of how TPTP try so hard to pull attention away from Caryl to the point where it's extremely frustrating and inorganic.

Another way tptb resist the undeniable chemistry between Caryl is by separating them. Daryl gets to do the cool action sequence while Carol is left behind to get yelled at by a man. Seeing the toxic dude bros rip Carol apart for lying to Ash has been difficult, and to be honest, it's the main reason why I could've done without that storyline. But I don't blame Carol for that. Zabel is the one who thinks manipulation is every woman's trademark, and as if that's not misogynistic enough, he takes every opportunity to punish Carol for it.

If there are any comparisons to be made between this season and S11 of the flagship show, they're in the penultimate and the finale episodes. Just like in S11, Carol is kept away from the main mission to essentially do busy work. I'm all for highlighting an emotional arc over mindless action, but not when it creates a power imbalance between two characters and two actors who are supposed to be leading this show together. It solidifies for me that Norman, Zabel, Nicotero, and Gimple are insecure about the show’s positioning. They need it to be Daryl's show while Carol is just a sidekick. They're all marking their territory for their own reasons. Melissa deserves so much better from Norman and so much better than the other three.

One more episode to go and thank fuck for that.

[stratocumulusperlucidus]

WIP REC

I love love love reading WIPs, the anticipation, the excitement of getting the notification for a new chapter, even sometimes the cliffhangers... So here are some of the lovely fics I'm currently reading!

Oh and if you read these, please consider taking a minute to leave a comment, let the author know you appreciate their work 💖

This Is More of a Comment Than a Question by @caterpills

Rating: Mature | Chapters: 3/10

Three weeks before Henry Fox's tour for his fourth, highly anticipated, awards-bait novel A Brief War in December begins, his publicist Janella breaks her foot on a bunny slope at Windham. Alex can't be mad at her, even though he kind of is. Saying it out loud would be like kicking her when she was down, and she already went down a literal mountain in the worst way possible. Now crammed in Rafael Luna's corner office, Janella is shooting Alex extremely apologetic looks while slumped on her crutches, wearing a bright orange cast. The conversation about who is going to be joining Henry Fox on his multi-city trek across the U.S. is also going downhill. Alex is feeling the same sort of free fall while standing still. Because out of all the publicists available in their tiny underfunded department, the only one left to escort their company's best-selling author is regrettably him. The problem is, well, Alex absolutely hates Henry Fox.

Or: Alex is the publicist for Mountchristen Publishers, and is stuck on a two-week tour with their best-selling, but frustrating, author Henry Fox.

Her Royal Highness by @tailsbeth-writes

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 5/?

'Shaan, can you please put an appointment in my diary?' 'Certainly sir, what is it for?' 'A reminder to kill Alex for getting me into this mess.' Shaan tried to hold back a smirk as he stepped back, tapping away on his tablet. 'Personally I think the blue glitter really brings out your eyes, sir.' This terrible idea had started like most of Alex’s did, a seedling planted by the most chaotic of the chaos demons; Nora.

or How Prince Henry ended up as a guest judge on RuPaul's Drag Race UK.

the full spectrum of human emotion by @firenati0n

Rating: Mature | Chapters: 3/6

Alex grips his hand tighter. They’re going to need to have a long, hard conversation in the next five minutes, or else Alex is going to combust right here in Pez’s fancy office. Explode for all of Midtown Manhattan to see. Here lies what remains of Alex, for all the world to witness—taken out by a rogue marriage proposal from his evil boss-turned-fiancé.

Or: Working under editor Henry Fox-Mountchristen was only supposed to be Step One in Alex’s plan of achieving his big dreams—but when his boss winds up facing an even bigger problem, potential deportation, Alex finds he isn’t just a beleaguered assistant anymore. He’s the solution.

It’s fine. They only have to fool his friends, his family, the United States Government…and themselves.

Life Is Not A Movie (But We Can Have The Fairytale) by @lfg1986-2

Rating: Explicit | Chapters: 3/?

Three years after the smashing success of the first Red, White and Royal Blue film, Nicholas and Taylor are preparing to return to their roles as Henry and Alex to film the sequel. After a late night of catching up with each other and reestablishing their close bond just before rehearsals begin, they wake up to find themselves in a crazy twist of fate, where fiction blends with reality and the lines between fictional characters and the actors who portray them become irrevocably blurred.

Or

What happens when Taylor is transported into the movie universe and comes face to face with Prince Henry, while Nick wakes up to find Alex Claremont-Diaz in his living room in the place of his friend and costar? Both pairs must work together to figure out how to get themselves back where they belong, and along the way they discover some things about themselves and each other that has the potential to alter their relationships forever.

take me back to San Francisco by headabovethewater / @getmehighonmagic

Rating: Explicit | Chapters: 2/8

“You don’t look like you’re having a very good time,” a soft voice suddenly startles him from his thoughts. Henry’s entire body jerks and he spills some of his drink down the front of his shirt.

“Oh, bloody-” He leans over to put his drink on the table and starts wiping at his shirt. “No, I’m- It’s not that, it’s-” He glances fleetingly at the stranger and then down at his shirt again, before his brain finally registers that oh, glasses, dark curls, white smile, exposed chest. Henry’s head snaps back up and his lips part in astonishment. Handsome doesn’t even begin to cover it. Him.

“Hi,” the man says, then chuckles. He hands Henry a napkin and gestures towards one of the other chairs at the table. “Would you mind?”

or, Henry and Alex meet on vacation in San Francisco and an instant spark between them has both of them unable to let the other go. With only two weeks to spend together and the knowledge that it can't last beyond that, it's just a massive, insurmountable recipe for disaster.

Or is it?

Unattended / Unsent mails by amnesia_on_ice / @amnesiaa-on-ice

Rating: General Audiences | Chapters: 4/?

Alex is a Singer Songwriter, henry is his arch nemesis Actor but also secretively writer. There is a long running feud between Henry and Alex. Now they are meeting for the first time in person in a vanity after party and the stan twitter have lots to digest of the meeting.

The story of Unattended/ unsent mails.

the drag of your lips by rizcriz

Rating: Mature | Chapter 2/3

Alex isn’t sure how he got here.

Here being pressed into the couch, his roommate straddling his lap and warm against every point they’re touching, soft lips moving against his own in the most sensual, leisurely pattern that Alex’s fingers instinctively flex where they’re clinging into his lower back. He’s hard in his pants, straining towards Henry, but there’s no desperate hands grasping, no drive to take this any further.

Or, Alex just really wants to make out with someone. Henry helpfully volunteers.

Foxden Park by myheartalive / @myheartalivewrites

Rating: Explicit | Chapters: 4/9

“Yes, Alex, what a terrible destiny,” Nora says. “To be hosted for a week by all these charming rich people, who have bent over backwards to accommodate us, including sending their own carriage into town to fetch us. How very dare we drag you into their nefarious scheme.”

—

Invited to a week-long house party at the Duke of Windsor’s country residence, Alex Claremont-Diaz does not expect to find anything to enjoy about his time there. What he does find is Lord Henry, the duke’s younger brother—and a boatload of things to learn about himself.

Seven days in the country in a duke's house. What could possibly happen?

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: 1.4K~ Summary: Steven surprises Connie with a handmade gift. Written for Glow Week 2024, for the prompt "Casual or Surprise."

@glowweek

This one took a while, but woo! Got a prompt done! It encompasses both prompts for the day in some way.

Enjoy! <3

__

“So, uh… I made you a little something,” Steven begins, a nervous little waver rising in the tenor of his voice.

“Oh?” Connie hums, glancing up from her book to match eyes with her friend, recently turned boyfriend. His cheeks are flushed, and he stands at the foot of the stairs as if rearing to rush up to the next level at any moment. What’s all this about?

He taps his fingertips together, his gaze floating off as he proceeds to babble away, bless him.

“Now, as context, I know it’s like, nowhere near your birthday or anything, and you’ve always been more of an ‘acts of service’ and ‘quality time’ kind of person than the sort who goes for gifts, but… well, I’ll just show you! Stay right there!”

He careens up those steps with an altogether giddy smile lighting up his face, his eager footfalls echoing throughout the whole beach house. And while she’s of course piqued with curiosity on what this mysterious little gift could be, what stands out to her most about this moment is the heartwarming realization that this is the biggest smile she’s seen from him in a very long time. It’s no understatement to say these past few months have been the most challenging months of his entire life. No, it’s not an understatement at all. And sure, many may question how she— a mere teenager with miles of her own crap still left to work through— can ever bear it, willfully spending so many hours of her life with someone in such a state of distress. Willfully asking said person to be her boyfriend while he’s trudging through the most treacherous thickets of therapy. Her parents, pragmatic as they are, even went to the extent of warning her when she voiced this intention to them… asking if she was emotionally prepared to shoulder both the natural and uncommon hardships that were sure to come with dating a boy who— just months prior— loathed his own existence so much that he literally corrupted himself into a monster.

The answer, however, is and always shall be an emphatic yes.

Because she loves him.

Because he makes her world feel like magic.

Because the things they’ve experienced together have eternally linked them at the hip.

Because she can’t imagine a worthwhile future without him anymore.

Because the lighter, casual moments like these— just hanging out together in the house, reading a book, watching her boyfriend all flushed and happy and bashful around her— make every single day of potential hardship in between worth it.

And when he dashes down the stairs clutching a huge but slender, messily wrapped parcel in both hands, tied up with curling ribbon at its ends, she discovers yet another reason why she adores him so much.

“A little something?” she says with a playful gasp, setting her book down on the coffee table as she stands to her feet. “Steven, that’s like three feet long! What on Earth did you—”

“Just open it,” he beams, passing the parcel to her.

And open it she does.

Connie is normally very deliberate in the way she pulls gift wrap apart— working from the edges so she can avoid tearing or wrinkling the paper and has scraps to re-wrap other presents in— but the second she’s revealed even the smallest swath of Steven’s handmade gift her heart skips a beat, and she feels compelled to rip the rest away in mere seconds, impatient in her desire to admire the full item.

It’s a scabbard.

More specifically, it’s a leather skinned scabbard, artfully detailed with the same repeating glyph motif that forms the borders on the maps featured within her Spirit Morph Saga books. Said detailing is a little messy, every last line clearly tooled by hand, but exudes so much love and care. There are also golden fittings affixed to the end and throat of this scabbard, as well as two sturdy buckles she could use to fasten it to her baldric.

“It’s not perfect,” her boyfriend comments, carding his fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, “and the fittings didn’t really come out as smooth as I wanted, but I remember you always saying your current scabbard was too heavy, so… I thought I’d make a new one.”

“Wow, I—” she breathes in disbelief, running her hand across the tanned leather with reverence. “This is incredible! How did you even—?”

“Bismuth helped with a lot of it,” he says with a bit of a laugh, moving to sit on the couch again. (She follows suit, gently laying his handiwork on the table before them.) “She let me use some of her tools, and even found the original mold for your sword for me to take measurements from. Those fittings?” he points towards the metal in question, a little dented and uneven in shape, but undeniably sturdy. “Took five attempts to get right. I kept cooling them too fast.”

“Is this real leather?” she marvels, continuing to admire the nearly smooth, flat grain texture.

“Actually, yes,” he nods. “I wouldn’t usually spring for the real stuff, but… well, my uncle had a bunch of old hides he wasn’t using that he inherited from his grandfather. And then, fun fact, the core of this doesn’t even come from Earth at all! It’s sourced from some fallen trees on one of the restored Kyanite Cluster colonies. Supposed to be some of the lightest yet durable wood out there.”

Her eyes outright glisten under the intensity of all the effervescent emotions coursing through her veins. “So you’re saying you made me a scabbard from complete scratch with heirloom leather and space wood?”

“Do you… like it?” he says, rocking back and forth in his seat, no doubt probing every last facet of her expression to try and decipher her truest sentiments on his gift.

She throws out her arms in want of an embrace. “Are you kidding? I fucking love it!”

Pure, undiluted adoration surges straight through her very heart as she outright throws herself at her boyfriend, clutching upon the thick woolen folds of his jacket as she nuzzles her chin at the crook of his neck, her slow exhale radiating warmth against his skin.

She’s no stranger to an unexpected lavish gift— she remembers with fondness that day her parents surprised her with a violin, or the delicately embroidered sari her mother got her for her twelfth birthday.

But this gift… this gift was made especially for her, and the sheer sentimentality of that realization has her falling in love with this boy all over again.

“All this tooling,” she asks a few moments later, once they’ve ended their embrace. “Steven, how long did this even take you?”

A small laugh— perhaps in disbelief at the vast scope of his own handiwork— bubbles through the beginning of his reply. “Many, many weeks. I just followed some TubeTube tutorials for the bulk of it. It was nice, though— a surprisingly stress relieving outlet.”

She nods. “Yeah, I bet.”

At that point, Steven glances aside, giving (in the context of this otherwise joyous little moment) an uncharacteristically heavy exhale. Her lips curve into a frown as she studies him, his expression growing all pensive and line-y like it does whenever he’s reflecting on more personal matters. Hmm. What’s he noodlin’ about this time?

Thankfully, for once she doesn’t have to ask.

“Connie, I— you’ve been such a source of strength for me these past months,” he begins, endlessly wringing his fingers together in his lap, “and… I guess I just wanted to make you something to say that— well, that I see you. And I thank you. And that I’m so, so eternally indebted to you.”

“You’re not indebted to me, silly,” she says in the softest tone she can manage, capturing both his hands within hers, calming their nervous fidgeting. “This gift is really thoughtful and sweet and I adore every inch of it, but please— in the future, please don’t feel like you have to ‘make up’ for anything. I’m choosing to stand by your side through all this, remember? And you know why?”

The barest hint of a smile blooms across his face, the tips of his ears turning beet red.

“Because you love me very, very dearly and I need to stop listening to my jerk ass brain—?” he echoes her own line sheepishly, voice cracking at the edges like it hasn’t since he finally got his growth spurt.

“You said it yourself, mister. Now come ‘ere, you—“

With a soft giggle, she pulls him forward by the lapels of his jacket and plants a chaste kiss against his lips.

She can tell he’s not quite at a stage of recovery where he’s emotionally capable of understanding why, but one thing’s for damn sure:

She’d say yes to this boy for a thousand eternities.

[buckybarnesss]

Touch and eye contact are the Sterek trademarks. It's always heavy, intense eye contact, and different ways that they touch each other.

Season 1 and 2, it's very tentative. Derek takes Stiles' hand for help up off the ground (and the gentle face touching!!), the infamous wall push happens (which is very gentle, honestly, like Derek does not hurt Stiles.)

Derek reacts badly when a boundary is broken. Stiles makes him strip, Derek pushes his head against the steering wheel.

By the time season 3 comes along, they're very casual with one another. Winking, smirking, Derek reaching out and grabbing Stiles, Stiles grabbing Derek's wrist.

It's insane. Season 3 happens 3 or 3 months after season 2, and they are already comfortable with each other. Relaxed. And it's not shocking to anybody BUT Scott; Peter is visibly amused by their antics.

All of this potential is why there's a billion fics about what happened during the summer break.

riggghhht. it's insane.

part of the reason people love season 3 so much isn't because of the plot. it's because the show founds it's grove with the characters which enhanced the plot. they're established with not only the audience but with each other. they're able to play off each other in various ways that they couldn't in the previous 2 seasons.

derek and stiles in s3 and 4 had gotten to a place where they could be playful and understand each other with just intense eye contact (horny, horny eye contact).

smoke and mirrors with them in the back of the van trying to help liam? peak sterek behavior.

stiles learns derek's boundaries without some trite conversation about it and derek only retaliates for the most egregious one in wolf's bane and it makes sense as to why derek reacted that way. "you know what that was for" indeed.

stiles's finger taps in currents is a call back to the moment in shape shifted. he is silently asking to touch derek to offer comfort and support in a moment of sorrow. boyd having been killed and derek's body being used as the weapon against his will. there is nothing stiles can do for boyd in that moment but he isn't too late to help derek.

derek's absence fucks stiles up in s5. he is emotionally rocked by losing someone who he has this kind of relationship with. someone who understands without him having to verbalize. they got each other.

than derek's just gone.

(though i will never be convinced stiles wasn't blowing up derek's phone with memes at 2am).

it definitely flies under the radar in tattoo. there's a whole little subtextual plotline where scott realizes derek and stiles are not only friendly but clearly have been working together over the summer.

it's part of why scott starts to remove the stick from his ass about derek so that by frayed he's messed up at derek's supposed death.

like, stiles gets defensive on derek's behalf when scott brings up going to him about his tattoo problem pointing out derek's had his hands full in looking for erica and boyd over the intervening months.

i genuinely don't think scott knew what had occurred with erica and boyd. i don't think he was expressly told. allison probably didn't tell him out of shame and derek didn't want to involve him. stiles kept it to himself too and instead worked with derek. scott was pointedly kept out of the loop.

in tattoo you also have derek tracking stiles around the room with his eyes for a billon seconds for no reason.

the casual titty grab way derek stops stiles from leaving.

the ending when scott discovers the painted over alpha pack symbol and that whole everything. scott realizes that no only was stiles helping derek without him know but also withheld knowing about the alpha pack. stiles isn't surprised and is in the background awkwardly trying not to draw attention to himself. isaac wakes up before scott can question him.

it's top 10 anime betrayals.

and chaos rising -- a whole episode later -- there's the fisting jokes, and the bank heist planning and scott being like "in front of my salad" while peter is amused in the background because peter's been seeing this behavior for weeks now and isn't surprised.

tl:dr stiles and derek genuinely are friends by season 3 and we know what they did over the summer. the show just doesn't bother to beat you over the head with it because there's enough context clues to tell you.

[gilverrwrites]

if you had any inclination to do nsfw black mask headcanons, i'm just saying there is an audience for that and i'm in the front row 🖤🔥

NSFW Alphabet- Black Mask

Have been waiting all my life for 1 (one) singular person to ask for this. So here you go. Have a full alphabet of entirely self-serving NSFW Black Mask headcanons that give me life, I could go on forever but I wont. Please just take whatever resonates and have fun with it.

You can fix him? Oh yeah, well I don’t want to fix him, I want to be his good girl while he continues to be a vile and despicable villain.

CWs: Swearing, dirty talk, mentions of: humiliation/degradation, bdsm, blood, spit, pain. Nothing is graphic, but its there. I just think he's kinky and depraved, and I want him to do bad things to me ok bye. Rating: 18+

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Aftercare can really vary. Roman is very kinky, and intense kink can come with intense drop both sides. So, if you’re someone he really cares about, he’s really good with the aftercare. He’s rubbing lotion on your bruises, running a bath for you both to relax in, “Whatever you need doll, I’m your man.” If you’re not someone he cares about, he’s not good with the aftercare. He’s sparking up an after-sex cigarette and tapping his fingers until you leave. If you take too long he’s kicking you out, he’s a busy man, no time to be waitin’ around for you to get of your ass. You should of known what to expect when you jumped into bed (or whatever surface) with him.   If you’re in the weird in between phase where he’s trying to woo you, but he’s not ready to bare all yet, you’ll get a slightly softer side to him. He’ll offer you a cigarette, wipe down any stray fluid, and maybe even let you stay the night. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands, they’re the best tools for inflicting pleasure and pain. With his partner, he likes their mouth. Likes hearing them moan, or cry, or praise him. Likes putting his fingers to the back of their throat and seeing how long they can handle sitting still, fighting their gag reflex, ignoring the drool that seeps down their chin, until they crack. “That’s it baby, hold still. Get my fingers nice and sloppy.” 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

There isn’t a single part of your body he would object to cuming in/on. However, he really enjoys a good cream pie. Especially loves watching his cum seeping out of you, then scooping it up and either pushing it back in, or having you lick it off his fingers. “Can’t let a single drop go to waste.”

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I thought long and hard about this, I really did but… This man just has no sexual shame. Will he jack off into your lingerie, yes, and then he’ll tell you to wear it. Does he wanna watch you fuck yourself? Yes, so spread your legs and show him what you can do. Does he x, y, z… Yes, let’s do it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Roman has been around the block and back again, multiple times. It’s rare however that he comes back to the same person unless he sees potential.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary may seem vanilla, but it gives him most of the power, and allows him a good view of your face. He wants to watch the way you respond to him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Usually deadly serious, but he can crack a joke or too, usually at your expense.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

(This may be a little self-indulgent here but:) Mans got such a deliciously hair chest and a matching happy trail, leading to a well-trimmed pubic area. Gotta look smart, in and out of his clothes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

I think intimacy and romance are two different things in this scenario. The things he does to you, and the things you do for him in the bedroom are highly intimate, but not necessarily romantic. His romantic side comes out in the seduction and the aftercare.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Why would he ever jack off, when he has a perfectly good cocksleeve available to him 24/7 (you). He does masturbate when you’re separated for whatever reason, but if he can, he’ll do it with the aid of photos/videos he has of you. Will sext, but prefers a phone call, he wants to hear you getting off, and he loves the sound of his own voice.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Include, but are not limited to:

S&M: By nature he’s a sadist/dom, but will occasionally switch for the right person. Gotta put his money where his mouth is. Prove he can take as hard as he gives. Bondage: Less shibari, more suspension, spreader bars. Think restrictive and exposing. Medical kink: I’m not talking costumes and role play, I’m talking insertion, scalpels, examinations, enemas, etc, the whole 9 yards. Sensory deprivation: Sight, sound, touch. Impact play: Self-explanatory. Body worship: Give and take, he likes to be worshipped, but he loves to adore you too. Degradation/humiliation: Extension of worship, wants to fuck you so hard that you’ll do anything for him, even at the expense of your dignity. Don’t worry, it’s for his eyes only, “nobody will know what a desperate little whore you are for me.” Orgasm control and overstimulation: Especially when it results in dumbification. Praise: You did such a good job for me, “who’s my good girl/boy/baby?”  Gotta keep you sweet. He also likes to be told when he’s doing a good job.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Man loves pain and torture, you can’t tell me he doesn’t have some kind of red room for a good torture session with one of his enemies. By extension, I refuse to believe that he doesn’t have a sex room. Both are filled with tools and toys meant for inflicting very similar, but very different forms of pain, yk?  

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

I once heard someone say something to the effect of: Sex is like money, only to much is enough. And I think that perfectly encapsulates Roman’s libido. Show him some shoulder, look at him too long, breathe in his direction and you’re in for it. “You lookin’ to get your shit rocked right here, right now sweetheart?” “What, no I just- ” “You keep makin’ eyes at me like that and I won’t have a choice.”

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Roman loves to get down and dirty, cum, spit, blood, sweat, and tears. However, he doesn’t like actual dirt. You’d catch him dead before he fucked you in a back alley, or just outdoors in general.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

In his heart of hearts, Roman is a taker. He loves having someone on their knees. There are very few feelings better than having your cock worshipped, choked on, cried on, by someone ready and willing. One of the few better things is pushing someone over the edge again and again until they’re bumbling and begging with no idea if they want him to stop or to NEVER stop. Overstimulation and/or edging is a delicious form of torture all on its own.

“Are you all fucked out already? Pity, cause I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

It may seem generous of him, but he’s really doing it for his own thrills.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It really depends on the mood, but typically foreplay & build up is slow, teasing, building to a hard and fast main event.   

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not his first choice, but still a fan. If he has too busy a day or hasn’t seen you in a long while, then he won’t be able to help himself from bending you over the nearest surface and reminding you why you keep coming back to him.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’d never let someone other than himself see you in a precarious position, however, that wont stop him teasing you about it. Taking you in his office or the back seat of his car. Anyone could poke their head in and get an eye full. “What would everyone think if they saw you like this huh? Maybe I should show everyone what a needy little slut you are.” Realistically if anyone actually did interrupt, they’d be leaving without eyes, if they’re lucky. Bonus points if you have a secret hero/villain dynamic going on!!! He’d fucking love winding you up by telling you he’s gonna film you and show all your bat-friends, or that he’s gonna broadcast to all the civilians that their hero gets their kicks on their knees for him ahhhhhh.  

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can go like 2-3 short rounds at a push, but prefers one long, drawn out session.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Yes. Yes. Yes and yes. Whips, chains, gags, a myriad or impact toys, vibrators, plugs, the works, and then some. See K= Kinks for more idea of what kind.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

His teasing is relentless. Before during and after. “You want me to what now? Oh, well you’re gonna have to bed real nicely then, aren’t ya?” “Does that feel good? Don’t you fucking look away, I said does that feel good?” “You were so sexy, blissed out on my cock earlier, think I’m gonna have to make you do that again, soon.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not loud per se, but he does not shut the fuck up. Grunting with each thrust, raspy groans against your skin, in your ear, and so so so much dirty talk. “Don’t you fucking dare squirm away. That’s it, you can take it, take it reeeallll good baby.” “What do you want, you want it here? You want it harder? Tell me what you need.” “Does that feel good? Yeah? Who did that to you? That’s it baby say my name, say my fucking name.”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I can’t not talk about the gloves, right? I mean, the gloves don’t always stay on, obviously, he loves running his bare hands over your skin, pulling, pinching, spanking, skin on skin is so intimate. But also him being fully clothed, masked*, gloves on, just his zipper open enough to let his cock out while you’re fully nude; total head rush, he loves the power exchange.

*Yall can HC/imagine whichever version you want but I personally prefer my Roman with the mask stuck on, so it’s not like he has a choice in the matter.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Sad to say its nothing special. He is physically fit, yes, with maybe a bit of pudge after overindulging, but the main attraction is maybe 6 inches, cut, and of average thickness. It’s not the size that counts, its what you do with it, but he’ll internally thank you if you pretend it’s the best and biggest you’ve ever had.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

See M = Motivation. Very high sex drive, he’s ready to go at the drop of a hat. However, he’s good at suppressing it, being a busy man, he cannot be thinking about sex all hours.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I think he has a pretty good control over his body clock, he’s one of those people that can just switch himself on and off when it comes to sleeping. He doesn’t have the time to be lying awake when he needs the rest, so through sheer spite he can will himself to sleep as soon as it’s time to, and he wakes up when he knows he needs to. This man is too busy, and to stressed. So if you’re doing it before bed, as soon as his needs are met he’s conked out.

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[fairyringsandwings]

Namor Wanted To Marry Shuri - Theory/Meta

Evidence:

Ramonda Vs Shuri Interactions

The Talokanil Breathing Apparatus

The Line 'Nothing.'

Non-Political Motivations

Evidence 1 - Ramonda vs Shuri Interactions

The way that Namor interacts with both of these characters is very revealing. In order to acquire an alliance, Namor should be trying to foster a good relationship with the reigning monarch, which was Queen Ramonda. But this isn't what Namor does. Instead, he is disrespectful to Ramonda, but goes above and beyond to impress and convince Shuri.

Ramonda

When Namor arrives in Wakanda to confront Ramonda and Shuri, he completely ignores Ramonda's first demand for answers about who he is and how he got into Wakanda. He got past their shields, their greatest defence. He has appeared at times of heightened international conflict. And he was wearing vibranium, a material that only Wakanda was meant to have. This is a man who has sunk ships and killed people for getting close to his Kingdom, he knows how alarming and stressful his presence there is and the onslaught of worries and questions that will be racing through Ramonda's mind.

Yet he acts nonchalant, too busy complimenting Wakanda rather than calming the understandably distressed Queen. Why ignore and disrespect the woman he should be trying to befriend? Arrogance? Foolishness? Or had he already come to the conclusion that Ramonda would never agree to an alliance with him, so didn't bother wasting time with niceties to her?

Side Note: I am convinced Namor has a sophisticated spy network and that's how he was able to decide who he wanted an alliance with. In the original script, it's mentioned that The Talokanil are tapping into fibre optic wires and that that's how they're getting information about the surface world. It's probably one of the ways he learns about Wakanda, as I think he would do a lot of research on the country and its rulers before seeking an alliance.

Shuri

Shuri on the other hand, Namor treats with nothing but respect. When she asks for an audience with him, he grants her it rather than simply keeping her as a political hostage in a dungeon. He gifts her a beautiful dress covered in jade which is a valuable resource to his people. He could have left her in her normal clothes or even put her in worse as a means of a power play to make her feel less confident, but instead, he allowed her to meet him dressed as royalty. That shows he respects her and her position.

Namor then explains to her Talokan's origin and his past. He takes her to his Kingdom, allowing Shuri to be the first surface dweller to ever see it. He does all this to help Shuri understand 'what he has to protect'. This was a very risky move as someone as intelligent as Shuri would have the opportunity to learn about his people and discover potential weaknesses that could be used against them. Considering he's planning on going to war with the surface, that is not information he wants getting out. Yet he takes that risk to try and convince Shuri and make her see his reasoning. He respects her enough to try and convince her and he even listens to her opinion even if he isn't persuaded by her.

He then gifts Shuri his mother's bracelet. His mother Fen who has long since passed away and what few possessions he has of her are all that he has left to remember her by. This is a royal heirloom. A piece of his family. This is not something given away to just anyone.

Namor treats Shuri and Ramonda differently. He is respectful, playful, comforts Shuri over her grief with her brother's death and explains the situation of his Kingdom in depth, none of which he does for Ramonda.

Why does he do this? Because Shuri is the Crown Princess of Wakanda, the Heir to the throne, and someone he thinks is more likely to join him or 'burn the world' with. One day, she'll be Queen. If he can convince her to marry him, then not only does he have some sway over Wakanda but if they were to have children, that influence will carry out across the centuries. He would be securing a very powerful ally for a very long time.

Evidence 2 - Talokanil Breathing Apparatus

I think Namor always intended to capture Shuri so that he could try and convince her to join him. The Talokanil wear breathing apparatuses that allow them to breathe on land, BUT, they also allow people to breathe underwater.

Now why would they have technology like that? They're planning on going to war with the surface world. Surface world underwater technology is not the greatest, so if they were to get their hands on these masks, it would be very useful in battle and thus is not something the Talokanil want falling into enemy hands.

Why do they have them then? The only reason could be that they were planning on taking a hostage. It could have been Riri, but if they only wanted Riri why were there multiple breathing apparatuses that could work on land and sea? They were planning on taking more than one person.

Shuri.

Evidence 3 - Nothing

The line 'Nothing' is spoken when Namor and Ramonda meet on the beach to discuss Shuri. If Namor wanted an only alliance and not one specifically with Shuri, then this was his opportunity to demand it.

He has The Crown Princess, Heir to the Wakandan throne, the Head of The Wakandan Design Group and the world's most intelligent person, within his grasp. She'll have useful intel on Wakanda, intel they don't want anyone getting a hold of. Shuri is one of the most valuable hostages that Namor could ever ask for and the key to getting his alliance. Ramonda offered him anything for her daughter's return. And instead of asking for an alliance, he says he wants nothing.

At this point, he has no plans of making an alliance with Wakanda through Ramonda. He only wants one if it's through Shuri. Why else would he be keeping her in Talokan? It serves no other purpose.

Evidence 4 - BPWF Photo Caption

In BPWF Movie Special Book, in the caption of the top image, it says this, "Seeking Kinship and support, Namor gifts his mother's bracelet."

KInship shows that Namor wanted to form a close bond with Shuri. One way he could acquire this is through marriage. uniting their Kingdoms, becoming one people, one family creating a kinship. It would secure his nation a powerful ally for centuries if they have children.

This also shows it's not Namor being manipulative as some people like to say. He was genuine in his attempts to bring Shuri to his side. He wanted kinship and support. A true ally. Someone who would have his back as he would have theirs.

Evidence 5 - Not All Political

Namor's pursuit of Shuri is not all political. He has been described in various media as being 'Charmed' and 'Smitten' by Shuri. In the script, he's constantly smiling at her, especially in the original.

He seems to be a man of his word, yet can't follow through when it comes to Shuri. He promised Ramonda he would come to Wakanda and kill her if she betrayed him, which she did and he stayed true to his word. He also promised to kill the Princess but when he had the opportunity - TWICE - he didn't do it. He could have killed her on the aircraft before she took the herb, but he didn't. He could have speared her in a way that would instantly kill her in their final battle, but he didn't. He even tells her 'it could have been different.' Why say that unless he genuinely wanted it to be different.

In Conclusion

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The hand that feeds: A Yuri story

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )    

“Where is Morg?”

“He apologizes for his absence,” Dintz as diplomatically as he could, “; he is busy and sent me in his place.”

Dintz wasn’t sure why he had been told to be so respectful to this random human, but Morg had made it clear that he was not to be insulted. They didn’t appear imposing or threatening, but the fact that they had casually strode into the heart of their resistance base, surrounded by heavily armed and fanatical loyalists to the former Regime, and demanded an audience with their leader showed they were not to be taken lightly.

“He is busy?” The human repeated with a cold edge in their voice. A frown deepened across the human’s features as they fixed their gaze on Dintz. “I can assure you that he will make time for me, now go and get him.”

“As I have said, he is busy and I can speak on his behalf.” Dintz replied; his own patience growing thinner by the minute.

“Let me put this another way.” The human began as they pulled out a small data pad from their coat and entered several keys. “For every minute Morg wishes to play this game I will withdraw five million credits from your various accounts and send it through so many transfers and rerouting accounts that you will never see it again.”

Dintz eyes went wide at this but rallied quickly with a scoff. “I don’t think such drastic and unreasonable measures are needed-“

“You’ve just lost your first five million.” The human interrupted, “I calculate within the next seven to ten minutes you will be broke and quickly find your freedom fighters aren’t so willing to fight when their payment is an “I.O.U”.”

Dintz had enough of the human posturing and was about to throw him out of their base when he heard someone calling for him from behind.

“Dintz! DINTZ!”

He turned to see Juba, the resistance money handler, sprinting towards the waiting pair. It had been the first time the sub commander had ever seen the pudgy comrade move so quickly and it was almost amusing to watch him gasping and heaving his way over.

“Our accounts have been hacked!” Juba stammered out as he gasped for air through his two mouths. “We just lost five million credits!”

In a flash Dintz spun around and had his hands on the human’s neck; hoisting him in the air so his feet swayed slightly.

“Put the funds back.” Dintz demanded in a low growl which had previously made traitors shrivel in fear and give up all their secrets. The human on the other hand was not as easily scared and chuckled.

“You have twenty seconds before another five million is removed.” They replied even as Dintz’s taloned hand tightened around his throat.

“Contact the banks.” Dintz said to Juba without breaking his glare on the human. “Have them lock down the accounts, freeze them, put them under inquiry; have them do whatever it takes and lock them down!”

Juba pulled out a data pad and began frantically typing, but it was not fast enough.

“That would be another five million.” The human replied as the data pad chimed with a new message. Dintz looked at Juba for confirmation, and the expression of dread was all he needed to know it was true. In frustration he tightened his hand around the human’s throat, but the human headed him off as the potential solution to the problem crossed Dintz’s mind.

“Killing me won’t stop the transfer.” They gasped through his grip. “Get. Morg. Out. Here.”

Dintz let out another snarl before letting go of the human. They landed on their feet and gasped as air returned to their lungs while Dintz tapped the communicator in his ear.

“Morg, we need you at the front entrance now.” He spoke calmly into the transmitter. “We have-“

“I’m well aware.”

Dintz spun around to see Morg approaching the group. He was flanked by two of his bodyguards who appeared tiny in comparison to their leader’s presence.

“Mr. Yuri, to what do we owe this unannounced disruption?” Morg asked casually as he came before the human

Yuri swiped the grim from his coat and looked up at the towering warlord. “Morg, how kind of you to finally join us; I would hate to think you were showing your financial backer disrespect by sending your underling.”

Morg gestured to Dintz. “I would hardly call my second in command an underling.” He remarked, but Yuri was not impressed.

“I asked for you.” He replied, emphasizing it by pointing at Morg. “I wanted answer from YOU; and by sending anyone else you insult me.”

If Morg was insulted by such brazenness he made no show of it. He crossed his arms and looked like he was a parent ready to hear the complaints of a child.

“I am here now, what questions do you have?”

“What do you think?!”

Those gathered around the pair were startled by Yuri’s sudden outburst.

“I told you to kill senator Kun and you blew up an entire goddamn building!”

Morg nodded. “And the explosion killed the senator just like you asked.”

Yuri’s eye twitched as if his mind could not handle Morg’s answer. “I told you to only kill Kun; ONLY him! I expected a professional hit with precision accuracy and you give me a clumsy dumpster fire of a bomb that killed three hundred people!”

“I fail to see how this is my problem.” Morg answered. “All those who died were loyal to the false regime and were our enemies.”

“That was never the point.” Yuri strained. “I wanted Kun to die as he was the deciding vote on the council. His death would have triggered a new election where my operative would have assumed the now vacant seat.”

Yuri’s eyes turned dark and Dintz could almost see the fires of rage behind those tiny eyes. “Because of the bombing, the election for the seat has been put on hold and a national sense of unity has fallen over the council; completely erasing the factionalism I was to play on to complete my own task.”

“Why is this my problem?” Morg asked with a smug smile.

“BECAUSE I FRAKING PAY YOU TO MAKE IT YOUR PROBLEM!” Yuri shouted.

Several guards drew their weapons and trained them on Yuri. Dintz drew his own pistol and had it trained on Yuri’s head. A twitch of his finger would turn the rude little meat sack into a fine mist; yet Yuri seemed to only get angrier.

“Who do you think pays for your weapons?!” he shouted as he cast his gaze around the gathered soldiers. “Who pays for your explosives, your armor, your intelligence, and your fraking wages!?”

“I do!” he announced as he beat his chest. “Without me you would all be nothing more than a bunch of cave dwelling radicals throwing rocks at the regime’s forces or dead in some fraking gutter; and all I asked for was the occasional job in return.”

He turned back to look at Morg. “And you can’t even do that one, very simple, task.”

The amusement on Morg’s face was gone now, replaced with a cold and calculated visage.

“We appreciate all that you have done for our cause.” Morg began. “I can assure you that next time we will be more careful with your request.”

To everyone’s surprise Yuri shook his head. “No, no, no; you are not understanding me.” Yuri said as an evil grin crept upon his face. “There won’t be another chance for you, this was it and you failed.”

“So you will cease supplying us?” Morg asked as he uncrossed his arms, “Because if so you remove any reason for me to keep you alive.”

“I will continue to fund this motley group of renegades,” Yuri surprisingly said, “but only after they kill you.”

Morg laughed loudly and deeply at this. “You think any of my men, who I have fought alongside for years, would so easily turn on me?”

Yuri cocked his head and joined Morg’s laughter. “I know Freng over there might,” he said between laughter, “if he wants his little one to continue getting treated for Jungle Lung.”

Morg stopped laughing and turned to see the soldier Yuri had pointed to. Freng’s face was awash with surprise, eyes wide in horror at Yuri’s declaration.

“And then there’s Iligui over here,” Yuri continued pointing a thumb over his shoulder to a soldier behind him, “who has been trying to save up enough to smuggle his family offworld for years now.”

Yuri turned his head slightly to look at Iligui, whose weapon had lowered a fraction, and continued “It would be a shame for them to find a police force knocking on their door with orders to arrest them for being related to a traitor.”

“Don’t you dare-“ Iligui began but Yuri cut him off.

“Drenar here has a spawn brother who was captured in the last raid, alongside the kin of Gent and Wilk here.” Yuri casually pointed out another three random soldiers who all looked at each other uneasily. “I am told the prisons here are quite volatile and inmate slayings are dangerously common.”

Yuri folded his fingers of his right hand into a pretend gun and ran them along everyone gathered slowly. “I have funded you for the last ten years. I know who you all are, where you were born, who you love, who loves you, where you sleep at night, what secrets you have buried six feet under.”

He finally stopped and pointed at Morg and pretended to fire his finger gun. “I am the man who can rain hellfire down on every single one of you and you think you can double cross me-“

A lone gunshot went off and the front of Morg’s head blew outwards in a violent gory explosion. Everyone gathered, including Yuri, watched in stupefaction as the body stood momentarily upright as if still trying to reconcile with its demise before toppling loudly to the ground.

Dintz spun around and pointed his gun at Freng. Freng’s weapon was smoking and he let the gun fall from his hands with a loud thud before raising his hands up in the air.

“WHY!?” Dintz demanded; unable to comprehend this sudden betrayal. Freng’s mouth open and closed as if to answer but words failed him, so Yuri answered instead.

“Because Freng here realizes that fighting for ideals is meaningless if there is no one left to believe in them.”

Dintz’s eyes ran across the other gathered soldiers as they lowered their weapons as well. In a blinding anger Dintz turned back to Yuri intent to avenge his fallen commander but never made it.

Yuri’s pistol fired twice taking out both of Dintz’s knees causing him to drop to the ground followed by a third and final shot that tore half his head off. He toppled to the ground and Yuri watched the pools of blood between the two bodies mix before holstering his sidearm.

He motioned Freng to step forward and the nervous alien did so.

“You did well here today,” Yuri said as he looked up from the bodies, “and I must congratulate you on your recent promotion to commander.”

“Commander?” Freng repeated, as if the notion had never crossed his mind.

Yuri nodded and patted the alien on the shoulder. “But of course! Someone with such initiative who saved the loved ones of every soldier here without a moment’s hesitation is worthy of leading them into battle.”

Yuri’s voice was loud enough for the rest of the soldiers to hear and one by one their looks of disdain and disgust at Freng’s actions began to warm to understanding if not admiration. Through Yuri’s clever word choice they would see Freng’s actions less as self-serving and become easier at accepting his new position.

“You may pick whoever you wish to be your second in command and I will continue to supply you with whatever you need to continue your righteous war.” Yuri finished as he grasped Freng’s arm and hoisted it into the air.

“To Commander Freng, and the death of the false REGIME!” Yuri shouted.

“DEATH TO THE FALSE REGIME!” the gathered soldiers began shouting and pounding their chests in jubilation. The whole camp began chanting and Yuri imagined there would be some sort of celebration for Freng’s new position.

“Remember what happened here.” Yuri whispered into the new commander’s ear.

Freng nodded a bit too hastily and Yuri smiled as he let go of Freng’s arm. He nodded to the two bodies on the ground.

“Dump these two in the front of a local police garrison then make a public announcement that they acted without the consent of your group and attacked the senator by themselves.”

“What will that do?” Freng asked sheepishly.

“It will do some good trying to win back public opinion by showing that you are not savage terrorists lashing out at innocent civilians and those that do will not be spared your justice, even if they are from your own ranks.”

“It will be done;” Freng replied, “then what?”

“Then you can do as you wish.” Yuri answered much to Freng’s surprise. “My arrangement with your former commander was I supply him with what he needs and he does the occasional favor for me. I have no interest in micromanaging a revolution.”

Yuri pulled out the same data pad as before and entered a few keystrokes before turning back to Juba.

“You will find that I have returned half of your funds that I took; the half I keep a reimbursement for the frustration this incident has caused me.”

He waited for juba to confirm the transaction before continuing. “Once you have done as I have asked the next scheduled payment will be deposited.”

Freng and Juba nodded in almost perfect unison and Yuri smiled. “With that I will take my leave them. If I have to come here again, I will burn this entire camp to the ground and flay everyone within for my displeasure.”

With that final threat Yuri turned and left the camp without another word, leaving the newly appointed commander with no illusions to what a second failure would entail.

[kidukami]

WIP INTRO :: WILL O' THE WISP

※ genre: sci-fi/superhero fiction/thriller/tragicomedy novel ※ status: outlining/first draft ※ rating: mature (see notes)

wip page || main wip tag || playlist (coming soon!)

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synopsis!

Noe Crane is on his way to becoming a household name in his hometown of Las Glorias, California. His investigative talk show, Exposé, is known for delving deep into people involved in the ins and outs of the city, from obnoxious internet celebrities to ex-convicts and criminals. As a host, Noe himself assumes a rather eccentric—if not slightly controversial—persona on camera: witty, intensely brutal, and above all, an insatiable appetite for the truth. What the public doesn’t know, however, is that his quest for justice continues behind closed doors, as he partners up with his longtime acquaintance, Azra Moyer, becoming violent vigilantes hiding in the shadows. With the help of Noe’s mysterious ability to conjure and manipulate fire, they’d stop at nothing to cleanse the city of all evil and leave no trace behind, allowing them to tread safely between their two lives. But their work is jeopardised when a figure from the past comes back into their lives, reminding them of the days they thought they’ve left behind. Noe soon finds great danger lying ahead of his twisted sense of justice, and as he taps into his powers and how they came to be, he will discover that his perception of “evil” may have already overlapped with his existence itself.

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meet the characters!

noe crane || he/him. born 1991. main protagonist. popular talk show host and journalist with his own show, exposé. witty, bold, and charismatic, he knows how to charm his audience despite his rather unconventional approach to journalism. little is known to the public about who he is off-camera, as he takes good care as to keep his work and private life separate—for a good reason.

azra moyer || he/him. born 1991. deuteragonist. a reserved, highly intelligent criminal attorney with an impressive track record despite his relatively young age. he's a longtime acquaintance of noe, having known each other since their childhood, and acts as his right-hand man and confidant as vigilantes. while he's deemed trustworthy enough by noe, azra has his own secret to hide—one he will take to the grave if he must.

jesse shim || he/him. born 1991. antagonist. a mysterious figure who resurfaces in noe's and azra's lives after being presumed dead for two decades. he claims to be a social worker who has just moved back to las glorias after being away for two decades and shows great interest in reconnecting as long lost friends, but is that truly his goal in approaching them?

+ other secondary characters!

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notes!

features || morally grey characters, lgbt+ characters, poc characters, unreliable narrator, complex character relationships, childhood friends, rivalry, government conspiracies, unethical human experiments, moral dilemma, trauma, fictional setting in the real world, tragedy, dark comedy, satire, superpowers, plot twists, subverted tropes, etc.

potential content warnings || explicit language, sexual themes, violence, crime, deaths, depictions of abuse, substance use. not suitable for those under 18.

taglist || @writeouswriter (please ask to be added/removed!)

[sunyot]

Must See T.V. Moments - Invincible 2024

*****SPOILERS for SEASON 2: EPISODE 6*****

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I'm in my T.V. Phase now...

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*******I MEAN IT. SPOILERS AHEAD******

The 'parasitic alien' remains a classic Super Hero villain. My personal first introduction to this villain came from watching Batman Beyond. In a two-episode Saga, Terry gets the opportunity to fight alongside The Justice League of his era. Naturally, he finds discord only to discover... well you get the idea.

This concept plays on one of our fears as people: being controlled. As gamers, we're so used to being puppetiers. Yet imagine Being the puppet. Imagine further maintaining a small hint of consciousness; an out of body experience where you watch your every action taking place. We might wonder if we'd still feel pain? Would we feel anything at all? The parasite would probably have a total lack of self-preservation, and that scares us.

This show still reigns as one of the best-written shows on television. Robert Kirkman handles tension so well. I'm avoiding reading the comics, but when I see an episode as good as this one it's very tempting. The series integrates so many layers, adding a density to the storytelling. Amazing story craft like this, in my opinion, is the cause of fiction withdrawal. I know the feeling well.

Sometimes, a series feels like it's speaking to you personally. It becomes a drug that taps directly into your veins. I keep a list of shows on my phone that give me this feeling. Maybe one day I'll share them. Really, I keep them to remind myself which shows give me the true feeling I'm searching for. I do this in the hopes of limiting my sometimes lengthy searches for new entertainment.

Let's start with the obvious.

Do you Ship 'Mark X Amber' or 'Invincible X Atom Eve'?

Fans of the series remain vocal about their preferences. And I get it. They prefer for Mark to spend the majority of his time as Invincible, the superhero. They want to see him at his most powerful, going on adventures, fighting alongside a crew, and receiving the admiration of beautiful potential partners. Seeing Mark in a more ordinary human life could feel less fun. And Amber is, in a way, a representation of that. Her groundedness reminds Mark, and the audience, that he's still just a guy. This can cause conflict between the audience and certain characters. Protagonists often serve a cathartic outlets for viewers. Fans of Twilight want to see the quiet, studious, normal young lady swept up into an extraordinary series of events. Seeing someone like themselves, allows them to live vicariously through the plot.

Likewise, superheroes serve as one of our culture's best self-insert fantasies...

This is good. This is healthy, I'd argue. Being able to explore yourself in an idealized fashion can help people create fragments of identity which can sometimes become the sparks of our moral centers. All that said, writers like Kirkman, understand that stitching these fantasies to universal human experiences are what make them memorable. It's the filtering of the wild through the boring that make our stories sing.

In real life, we have relationship problems. We screw up. We do poorly in school. We fail at our obligations time and time again, while the world forces us to push onward because our obligations are always with us. As Mark continues to try and do the right thing, his humanity outshines his Viltrumite heritage.

*****SPOILERS for SEASON 2: EPISODE 6*****

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Rexsplosion reads Home Decor Magazines - Invincible 2024

"I actually thought Rex died..."

This series plays with tension brilliantly. It also avoids having too many moments of relief. When the immediate danger fades, the characters still live in a state of worry. They're always waiting for the other shoe to drop. We learn something quirky about Rex, but only because he almost died. This semi-sweet moment humanizes him, yet emphasizes the ominous nature of the series. Our heroes have to take their happy moments when they can get them. The Team, now scattered, became a question mark. This world cannot afford uncertainty surrounding its heroes. We saw their near demise in Mark's absence.

And with a few quick scenes of Mark's loved ones, we're of where he's most vulnerable.

This brings me to my favorite aspect of the episode:

- The Fiction inside the fiction -

This will always be one of my favorite methods of storytelling. Seeing characters in fiction read or watch their own fiction lets us see how they relate to their world. Sometimes it's done through myths and legends. Sometimes in other clever ways...

When Mark receives a box of science fiction stories (stories written by his father) we are able to more directly relate to the character.

This look of wonder and skepticism on his face. This is all of us...

My father introduced me to Star Wars. He had the original trilogy on VHS tapes. He recorded the movies when one of the major networks aired them without commercials. I wore those tapes out, watching until my imagination expanded to the vastness of any epic tale; spilling over into my daily life sunshine I could carry in my pockets.

At this moment in the show, I am Mark. I'm sitting on my bed, hearing my father's voice as the story plays out on the pages and in my mind. And I'd wager, I'm not the only one.

In dramatic fashion, we now get to go on the journey inside this new universe. This fiction within a fiction is crucial as it becomes the notion of creation from the perspective of beings we know to be created. How funny is that. Funnier still, to Mark this tale plays as cinema. Whereas to us, it's still animated; which is a wild concept when thinking of sentience.

Even the title 'The Man with the Invincible Gun' ...feels like foreshadowing to me.

*****SPOILERS for SEASON 2: EPISODE 6*****

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I'm sure most of you caught on quick, realizing that these stories are based on Mark's Father's real adventures. I think it's funny seeing a character like Mark, superhero, space traveler, one of the strongest beings in the Universe, forget all that, and lose himself in the story. Again, this character trait displays Mark's humanity. Of course, he eventually realizes that these stories are far from lore.

Knowing his father, it's probably safe to assume these were not heroic journeys of an idealistic space explorer. More than likely they were unsuccessful Viltrumite invasions of unsuspecting alien inhabitants. I also think we'll at some point get to meet some of these aliens and learn the truth of these encounters. But still, it's fun to dream.

This episode makes me want to read a good book...

It also makes me want to write. It's been a while since I've done that either.

A few more things. Seeing the Seth Rogan alien makes me wonder when I'm going to be able to hear him as his own character because every time he talks, all I hear is Seth Rogan. His is the only character that does that to me. I'm hoping my brain eventually adjusts.

Also, let's readdress the title screen.

What does it mean this season? In Season 1, the answer felt obvious. The blood splattered across the title showed the surprising violence of the heroes world, which slowly dragged Mark deeper into its depths. In this season, the classic 'Invincible' logo cracks away to reveal a red one.

What's the meaning, I wonder. Mark might be one bad event away from turning into Omniman, a true Viltrumite warrior, like the Mark of the other Universe. And speaking of other Universes...

Our friend Giant-Brain-Outside-My-Body-Man returns to get a bespoke suit from a tailor with four arms.

This tells me that no matter the universe, timeline, or year, nothing feels better than wearing a fresh new suit. We also get to see him do a little multi-dimensional hopping.

I wonder which Universe this could be...

Cryston

[eternal-dragon-of-time]

Steel Flesh and Chaos (1/2)

My fucking demons. 4k words of Magius making terrible decisions.

13 LoC Saga, Impalement, Character Death implied, Herokath,

Storms were delicate. Potential zipped around within the gathering clouds and manifested itself into pure unbridled energy. The longer that this state perpetuated the more unstable they became, the slightest shift able to collapse the weather structures in place and cause them to explode into dramatics. Storms were dangerous, they were live, they were chaotic.

“My Storm Temple... What is happening?”

Lionfang probably didn’t even know that when he constructed this place. The idiot had made his stronghold out of the magical equivalent of tissue paper before literally pouring water on it. As the first raindrops tapped onto Magius’ face they realized the magical connection. While the wind kicked into a higher fury they didn’t think twice before acting. Bending their knees they leapt off the clouds beneath their feet to land on what little mountain top was used as a base for this pathetic last stand.

“Think hard about how water works for a minute, maybe ask your boss for help.” They waved a flippant gesture to the increasingly amused Drakath. “I’m not going to, I’m happy for you to do my job for me.” Contrary to the confident attitude, their stomach twisted. They had to focus on Lionfang or else they would start thinking about the truth Drakath had just told them.

“You scheming-!”

Lionfang’s face twisted in anger as he moved to take a furious step forward, only to have his sabaton punch through the crumbling clouds. Magius watched as he panicked, attempting to pull himself out only for each movement to cause him to slip a little further down. It was cathartic to see, for the first time this whole adventure Lionfang looked afraid.

“Water vapour... The Tears are tearing apart the Chaos Magic that is holding this place together!” His observation was tinged with panic as he twisted to look at Drakath, an unspoken plea for assistance. Magius turned their attention to him as well. He was infuriatingly calm as the storm raged around them, unaffected by the promised weapon of total chaos obliteration soaking the three of them. A total waste. His eyes flicked to Magius’ for a moment and a smirk gleamed onto his face. Magius grit their teeth, of course he was enjoying having a captive audience, if the storm wasn’t at risk of dashing them against the cliffside they might’ve taken their chances diving off the mountain rather than stay to watch this. Snapping his gaze back to Lionfang, Drakath gestured to the rain fall.

“It’s doing more than that. With the power of the Tears now raining down on you...” Trailing off Drakath looked back to Magius again and winked. They straightened their spine at that, tempted to send a ruder gesture back at him. Magius didn’t want to build any sense of collaboration with him.

Lionfang’s armour began to steam as the heavy rainfall soaked through the seams of the chaorrupted mess it had become. Unlike how it had dissipated when used on Drakath, Magius noticed how the tears seemed to sink deeper. The tentacles writhing as the water boiled into their roots, rotting and withering away while Lionfang clawed at the armour in a desperate attempt to get it off before it reached his skin. They had to fight to keep staring as he howled and ripped at the dying tendrils, swallowing thickly and resisting the urge to check their skin as the same tears splashed against them.

So many people dreamed of curing chaorruption, but bearing witness to this purgation all they could think about was how much it seemed to hurt. They thought of Alteon, who had growths steadily weaving into his chest. Had they used the Tears on him as intended, would he even have survived?

“M-my power! Please Drakath, give it back!” Lionfang gasped, trembling propped up on one knee as the last of the chaotic magic was boiled away. Magius let out an exasperated sigh, interrupting the champion of chaos before he could respond. The audacity of Lionfang was too much to bear.

“You’re immune to chaorruption right now. That was the entire point of getting the Tears in the first place.” Throwing their hands into the air, Magius resisted the urge to scream. “The only cure known on Lore and you wasted it on him.” There was no amount of gesticular force that could convey the rage with which they pointed at Drakath “and yourself, and you didn’t even want it.” This is why they didn’t like missions that didn’t start and end with ‘kill the chaos lord.’ The sheer magnitude of this failure was astronomical.

Lionfang grasped at the faltering clouds, looking at Magius with wide eyes begging for them to do something. They were glad for their mask disguising them as they worried their lip between their teeth, trying not to bite clean through in frustration. Technically the Chaos Lord had been defeated, leaving the cured Lionfang behind. If their allies were here they would want Lionfang brought back alive, either for justice or as a test subject as the only known person to be cured of Chaos. They bounced on the balls on their feet as they considered, they might be able to reach him if they moved fast enough.

Another second passed and they planted their boots back on the solid peak of the mountain. Lionfang fell a few more inches, up to his shoulders.

“You’ve made your alliances clear General. Get help from him” The words were venomous, fuelled by the endless jabs against them they had endured. The way he had belittled them, scorned the Darkblood, slaughtered so many while declaring himself good had been boiling underneath their skin since the beginning. Magius wasn’t sent here to save a man, they were here to slay a monster. “Consider it a mercy that I’m not touching you with my traitorous hands.” It felt good to be petty after spending so long playing cat and mouse with the man, Magius hoped that his own words felt just as bitter used against him as they did against themself. Lionfang began to claw forward in a rage, abandoning his attempts at climbing out to instead hopelessly reach to strangle them.

“Apostate! Liar! You’re a disgrace to the name of Good!”

Drakath, Lionfang’s last remaining hope, laughed.

“I did try to help you Lionfang. But with Magius having robbed you of your power I can’t anymore.” Magius looked aside to glare at him. Everything that had happened to that bastard was self-inflicted; they didn’t want any credit for his complete fumbling of the Tears of the Mother. It was a sobering reminder, one that only stoked their rage at the chaos lord. To go from the high of manipulating Lionfang in their greatest assassination plot to the deepest pit of defeat because of his ridiculous ego was infuriating.

Magius refocused themself, this was a loss. Regardless of how much enjoyment they could wring out of Lionfang’s hubris they were no closer to stopping Drakath then when they had stood at the entrance of the Darkblood Crypt. It was wasted effort and worse- it was wasted time.

But the beginnings of a strategy began to manifest as they became aware of a gentle tingling sensation across their skin. Drakath hadn’t said he didn’t want to help, he said he couldn’t. Under this rainfall Magius was just as inoculated against Chaos as Lionfang was. They could still claw back a victory from this.

It was a bad plan, ill-thought out didn’t even begin to cover it, but Magius’ deftly slipped a throwing dagger from a concealed pocket in their rogues wear anyway. While Drakath remained focused on watching Lionfang’s final curses they began flexing their left hand to get the feeling back into it. Their fight with the chaos lord had left their limbs numb and heavy from the paralytic poisons in his whip, and they couldn’t afford to waste strength if they wanted to pull this off. They had a feeling Lionfang wouldn’t care if they were paying attention to his last words anyways.

He was scrambling now that no one was left to save him. In a practical sense he was already dead.

“You conniving bastard!” He snarled, one hand managing to grasp a solid part of the dissipating floor, “I will kill you for this Magius, if it's the last thing I-” This effort to drag himself forward and out was too much for the strained magics. The floor shifting to a soft lavender hue as it began to break apart under his fingers, turning into clouds to dump more rainwater into the storm. For a moment Lionfang hung in the air with an iron grip clinging to nothing. A second later he hurtled down and down into the skies above the Thunderforge, his final oath still rattling in his throat as a death scream.

Stretching out their wrist Magius looked at the hole where Lionfang had been. Watching as the clouds surrounding it faded, widening it, the rest of the Storm Temple soon to follow. Drakath noticed the collapse as well. Spreading his wings he leapt with effortless efficiency to the solid rock Magius had retreated to, unbothered by the howling wind.

Magius tried not to flinch as he landed just seven feet away from them, their shot nerves still functioning enough to recognize that he was too close. Not just too close for comfort, which was a distance of across the continent from them, but almost too close for their plan to work. The rumbling of the storm swelled as the two regarded each other. Magius having to strain against the wind in order to stand straight in front of the champion of chaos.

“Well, wasn’t this a productive meeting.” He said. His smug face wasn’t helping their nerves. Magius could only hope that Drakath hadn’t predicted their next move. If they were lucky he was too entertained by the show Lionfang put on to be concerned with what they were doing. “I wasn’t expecting you to leave him to fall, but I suppose that is why you’re alive and he is not.”

Magius shrugged, careful to keep their throwing knife against their thigh, just out of sight of where Drakath was standing. “It wasn’t about surviving, I meant every word of what I said to him. If he was in his right mind he would’ve rather died than accept my help, so I left him to his desires.” It was easier to talk to Drakath here than in previous encounters, they couldn’t tell if it was because he was doing something different or if it was their plan that let them project this confidence.

“How unheroic of you.” Drakath said, the simple observation cutting into them. Magius took a deep breath, trying to keep their cool.

“I prefer pragmatic, my heroic work here was to stop Lionfang. No need to do anything else.” Cure him actually, that was what King Alteon had asked them to do. That did happen, despite everything else that came afterwards. Drakath considered their words for a moment.

“You stayed to watch him fall, you wanted him to.” Drakath grinned “And I thought Lionfang’s surprise was a bust! You’re not as good as you make yourself out to be!” Magius grit their teeth. They had never lied about how they would behave, they were still fighting for Good. Their knife hand twitched as he laughed at their silent response.

The longest shot was in front of them, all that was left was to pray they didn’t miss. Beneath their mask they licked their lips, it would be best to try and keep this as quick as possible, there was no way they could use sheer force.

They internally cringed at the memory of their attempt after Ledgermayne, they weren’t going to let this be a repeat of that, they were sure of it.

“There’s more surprises where that came from.” They snarled

Following instinct more than thought they hurled the knife with their full body as hard as possible at his neck. Pitching forward they caught a glimpse of Drakath’s eyes blinking in what they hoped was surprise before they abruptly had to contend with gravity. Staggering forward they caught themself before they fell on to their face, their muscles throbbing in protest as they brought themself back up into what they hoped was enough of a fighting stance.

Drakath hadn’t even bothered catching the blade, letting it embed itself in his gauntlet where he had moved his hand. He looked at them with an expression somewhere between amused and disappointed.

“Really?” he yanked the knife out by the handle and presented the edge to them, comically small in his hand “What were you even hoping to do with that?”

Magius tried not to focus on the pathetic outcome and instead on the positive, if he had bothered to stop it from hitting his neck then that meant they were focusing on the right place.

“It was worth a shot.” There was no energy left to try and be coquettish about the attempt. All their ragged energy began to pound in their skull as they tried to think of something, anything else to try. They focused on his neck and the blood that pumped there. They were still immune so long as the storm raged, they could stop everything now if they could just kill him.

“Was it? ” Drakath asked, considering the throwing knife. Magius felt a sinking feeling as he fixed them with a savage grin. “I think you’ve forgotten who you’re speaking too.”

The impact was so sudden that all the air was driven out of their lungs before they had even hit the rock wall behind them. Pain blooming on their front Magius looked down to see their blade hilt deep in the centre of their chest. “You- what?” The words came out with a wheeze.

“That’s a little reminder.” He said, leisurely making his way towards them while they scrambled to keep themself up. “You have a role to play in all of this, one that you are doing exquisitely. But I can just as easily make someone else play hero.” He loomed over them, all of his previous casual tone obliterated and in its place the sheer power of his presence.

The words branded themselves in Magius’ skull. It shouldn’t have been shocking to hear, it wasn’t like Magius’ ability to kill powerful foes was unique in itself-- in fact in comparison to their companions their skillset was incredibly narrow. Still, ever since the confrontation at Swordhaven they had been Drakath’s opponent above all else, he was theirs. Fury burned in their heart just from thinking about them being replaceable. Not this. Not this last purpose they had.

Ignoring the splintering pain in their chest they grabbed their throwing knife’s hilt and pulled it out with a sickening schlick. As the blade came out cleanly their foot pressed hard against the rocks behind them, a swift movement to lunge forward. It was a few foot of distance. It was an easy maneuver. They would show him just how exquisitely they could kill chaos.

Whatever Drakath had expected them to do it hadn’t been that. They took some satisfaction in the surprise on his face as they drove their blade forward, getting one over on him twice in one day was exhilarating. It was unfortunate though that in the next second Drakath’s clawed gauntlet impaled them in the air, stopping their forward momentum immediately.

“Magius, be serious.” He scolded them as if he were scruffing a cat. Like they weren’t pierced through four times over in their side and hanging in the air. The pain stalled their brain, burning up from their hip to just below their ribcage as their body’s natural rhythm pulsed around the punctures. For a moment a rational side of their brain implored them to listen to him. Then the hatred required to keep themself running in this moment immediately snuffed it out. Over ten years of experience learning combat, executions, and tenacity were running their body now. They had to win, they had to kill him, they had to show him what they were worth.

“I’m dead serious” They wheezed, and grabbing his shoulder they dragged themself deeper onto the gauntlet. They could feel something rip and tear slightly as the sharp points dug in. The knife was held in a death grip, their muscles coiled to spring as they calculated the minuscule distance keeping them from swinging it into what they hoped was something vital. It was an impossible distance to cover, it was tantalizing close. They looked up to curse at him, if he wasn’t so tall he would be dead by now.

Drakath’s eyes gleamed as they impaled themself further, and they realized with a shudder that his focus was entirely zeroed in on them now.

Magius had spoken to him enough times now, even just in the snatches of conversation after defeating a chaos lord, to recognize that often the champion of chaos wasn’t giving his attention to any meeting. It was not as though he wasn’t there, but his eyes were distant, seeing something more important than whatever destruction was being wrought before him. Only when he was surprised, which was usually when something interesting or entertaining happened, would they see him come back to the present and ignore whatever future he was enjoying.

They were staring into those narrowed eyes now. His expression focusing into something disarmingly normal watching them pull themselves closer to death just for a hope of getting back at him, like he was finding the thread to a tight knot in rope. It was dissecting, even more so when he used his other hand to catch their chin. Magius choked, twisting their head in a fruitless attempt to break his iron grip. Their efforts were ignored as he lifted it slightly to force them to make eye contact, his thumb resting on their mask. Somehow that was the detail that caused them to pause, if he wanted all he had to do was pull downwards and their face would be fully exposed.

Realistically they shouldn’t care. What he would see underneath it was meaningless to him, just a face like any other. But it was that thought alone that made animalistic fear tense their body as the two stared at each other. If he did tear down that mask, what kind of person would he see instead of Magius?

Magius’ fears were never realized, he didn’t move the leather mask at all as he spoke.

“What do you want, Magius?” The sound of the storm should’ve been overwhelming, but it all faded out in comparison to his question. His arm moved and Magius twitched at the flare of excruciating pain as the gauntlet shifted in their side. Almost as an apology his knuckle rubbed under their chin, it muddled their brain. It felt nice, to be touched in such a vulnerable place, there was no fear to come with it anymore. Things couldn’t get much worse for them. “What makes this worth it for you?”

“It’s not- about it being worth anything to anyone” They gasped, drawn into his attention like a moth to a flame. They were glad for the pain keeping them alert, otherwise they would’ve been unable to respond at all. They struggled for a moment to form something coherent to say, and opted to be honest. Magius didn’t have it in them to lie about ideology while suspended and impaled. “I have to kill you.” It was all that was left for them to do. It was quite possibly the only reason they were still alive.

Drakath’s claws moved, just a slight slip in their punctures and Magius almost blacked out.

“You have to? What if you didn’t?”

They were beginning to understand why the Chaos Lords made their choices now.

He was giving them an out, twisted as it was. A simple choice to make alone and swallowed in the storm, and nobody to witness them waver. Their indignation that they would ever sway from their purpose crashed against their exhaustion. Sweet surrender sounded wonderful right now, compared to the agony they had subjected themself to. Drakath continued, his words weren’t targeted at them any more, just musings to himself as Magius slumped forward.

“It is a bit early... But wouldn’t that be deliciously chaotic as well?” He leaned in closer and Magius could feel the beginnings of magic forming at the claw tips in their side. It was soothingly cool against their side, like water being poured against a burn. The temptation to lean into it was tantalizing as the pain began to fade. The attempt may have worked, if he had remembered to keep his distance, or if they weren’t so resistant due to the Tears. Magius sucked in a breath as they recalculated how far their arm could swing.

The slight distance closer Drakath had leaned in had brought them just within range to swing the blade and drive it deep into the flesh of his throat. Twisting it slightly they heard the familiar gurgle of lifeblood spilling out. Knowing they had sliced through the arteries contained there they pulled the blade out with a burst of gore.

Drakath stepped back and clutched his bleeding wound with his free hand, making a sort of horrifying choking sound. A heaving gesture sent Magius flying off of his gauntlet, tearing great rents in their right side as they went and leaving them to roll onto the ground as he staggered.

Magius felt the urge to be sick, nobody was meant to stay standing after a blow like that. There were too many vital pumps located in the throat for any strike not to be quickly fatal. And to their credit it seemed that Drakath’s body knew that, jerking with the effort of standing as whatever ichor his master supplied him continued to pour out. Yet somehow he just kept going. He stumbled back a pace before turning his head to the sky. His wings flaring out as the choking turned into a quick paced gasping, his shoulders shaking.

Magius flinched, was that sound supposed to be laughter?

The realization hit that they needed to leave right now. They staggered to their feet, using the rocks as leverage to pull themself up. Feeling lightheaded as they attempted to move with their injuries. Fear and anger mixed together and filled their chest, now with extra room to fit it. This was another failure they could add to the growing list for today. Yet even still they couldn’t help the iota of pride, they had done that to him, and they could do it again. If they were just a little stronger. The thought was spinning in their head, if they weren’t weakened from their fight with Lionfang, they might’ve even done it without all the blood loss that was becoming rapidly more apparent.

Once they had stumbled a safer distance from Drakath, Magius turned to look back at him. Promising themself that they were just checking to see how incapacitated he was, no gloating intended.

Tentacles had wrapped around his neck, glowing a radiant purple where the things were tying the great tear in his throat back together. The terrifying gasping transitioned into true laughter, uproarious as the champion of chaos shrugged off a mortal wound. He didn’t even have the decency to look affected at all after it finished healing. Magius was reduced to sheer frustration.

“That's not fair!” Magius shouted, clutching at their own devastating injuries. They had traded blows, pulled off an impossible gambit, they had earned a victory! Drakath’s laughter paused, he had to wipe away tears as he looked at them.

“It really isn’t.” He agreed, “You are nothing in comparison to me.” Magius opened their mouth to correct his mistake and tell him that he was a cheating bastard only to flinch away as he grinned at them. “But do you know what's better than knowing I’ve already won? It’s that you are going to keep trying, because you have nothing else.” His smile was deranged as he speared them with the words. “I’m going to kill you! And you’re going to keep running straight into my arms!”

Magius had heard enough. Praying that the Darkblood Matriarch was still at the bottom of the mountain to catch them, they leapt off the rocky peak into the storm. Behind them they could hear Drakath burst into laughter again before the sound was swallowed by the rumblings of the storm. Part of them hoped they would be hit by the lightning arcing around them, it would be better than having to think about what Drakath had just said.

Hopelessly they thought of how many chaos lords were left. Only three more adventures left until either Drakath or they were dead. 

Magius was beginning to think they were running out of time.

[shamandrummer]

Healing through Storytelling

Storytelling has been a fundamental part of human experience for thousands of years. From ancient myths passed down through generations to modern novels and films, stories have shaped our understanding of the world and ourselves. However, storytelling is more than just a way to entertain or pass on knowledge--it can also be a profound tool for healing. By sharing our stories, we can confront and process our emotions, connect with others, and ultimately find a path to recovery and growth. In this blog post, we'll explore the ways in which storytelling can be a powerful force for healing.

The Therapeutic Power of Storytelling

Storytelling has a unique ability to tap into our emotions and bring about psychological healing. When we tell our stories, we give voice to our experiences, which can help us make sense of them. Many of us walk around in a fog of past events that we never fully understood or processed. When we tell our stories, we create an ordered pattern out of past events, and thereby construct meaning. We form a clearer understanding of who we are and how we got to where we are. This process is particularly powerful in dealing with trauma. Trauma can often leave individuals feeling isolated, misunderstood, and overwhelmed by emotions that seem too complex to articulate. By telling their stories, individuals can begin to organize their thoughts, express their emotions, and gain a sense of control over their experiences.

One form of storytelling that has gained recognition for its therapeutic benefits is narrative therapy. Developed in the 1980s by Michael White and David Epston, narrative therapy encourages individuals to tell their stories in a way that separates their identity from their problems. This allows them to reframe their experiences, recognize their strengths, and see themselves as empowered agents in their own lives rather than victims of circumstances.

In addition to narrative therapy, journaling is another powerful form of storytelling that can facilitate healing. Writing about our experiences, especially traumatic ones, can help us process emotions and gain insight into our thoughts and feelings. Studies have shown that expressive writing can lead to reductions in stress, anxiety, and depression, and can even have physical health benefits, such as improved immune function.

Building Connections Through Shared Stories

Storytelling not only helps us heal individually, but it can also foster connection and support among people. When we share our stories with others, we open ourselves up to empathy and understanding. Our stories allow us to be known and seen, understood and appreciated. This can be particularly important for those who feel isolated by their experiences. For example, support groups often rely on storytelling as a means of building community among individuals facing similar challenges. By hearing others' stories, individuals may realize that they are not alone in their struggles, which can provide comfort and reduce feelings of isolation.

Moreover, storytelling in groups can create a sense of solidarity and shared purpose. This is evident in many cultural traditions where communal storytelling is used to pass down wisdom, strengthen bonds, and maintain a sense of identity. For example, Indigenous communities often use storytelling as a way to preserve their history, values, and traditions, which helps maintain a strong sense of community and continuity.

In the digital age, online platforms and social media have expanded the reach of storytelling, allowing people to connect with others across the globe. Blogs, podcasts, and online forums provide spaces where individuals can share their stories and find support from a wider audience. This global exchange of stories has the potential to break down barriers, increase understanding, and build empathy among people from diverse backgrounds.

Storytelling as a Tool for Advocacy and Social Change

Beyond personal healing, storytelling can also be a powerful tool for advocacy and social change. By sharing their stories, individuals can raise awareness about important issues, challenge stereotypes, and inspire others to take action. This is particularly important for marginalized communities whose voices have historically been silenced or ignored.

One powerful example of storytelling as advocacy is the #MeToo movement, where survivors of sexual harassment and assault shared their stories, sparking a global conversation about gender-based violence. The collective power of these stories not only brought attention to a pervasive issue but also led to concrete changes, such as policy reforms and increased accountability for perpetrators.

Similarly, storytelling has been a key element in the civil rights movement, LGBTQ+ rights activism, and other social justice movements. By bringing personal experiences to the forefront, these stories humanize the issues at hand and create a sense of urgency for change.

Storytelling in the Healing Professions

Recognizing the healing power of storytelling, many professionals in the fields of healthcare, psychology, and social work are incorporating storytelling into their practices. For instance, narrative medicine is an approach that encourages healthcare providers to listen to their patients' stories as a way to better understand their experiences and provide more empathetic care. This approach acknowledges that patients are not just a collection of symptoms but individuals with unique stories that shape their health and well-being.

Similarly, in social work and counseling, practitioners often use storytelling to help clients explore their identities, build resilience, and find meaning in their experiences. By encouraging clients to tell their stories, practitioners can help them process their emotions, identify patterns in their behavior, and develop strategies for coping and growth.

Conclusion: Embracing the Healing Journey Through Storytelling

Storytelling is a deeply human practice that has the power to heal, connect, and transform. Whether through narrative therapy, journaling, group sharing, or advocacy, storytelling allows us to make sense of our experiences, connect with others, and find a path forward. In a world where many feel isolated and disconnected, storytelling reminds us of our shared humanity and the potential for growth and healing that lies within each of us. By embracing the power of storytelling, we can not only heal ourselves but also contribute to the healing of our communities and the broader society. What's your story?