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wholoveseggs · 3 days ago

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Unraveled

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Elijah takes you lingerie shopping, with plans to spoil you and savor every second.

♡♡ This is inspired by this anon message I received about Elijah buying you luxurious clothing... this is just pure sugar daddy Elijah wish fufillment ~ enjoy! xo ~ ♡♡

4.5k words - Warnings: smutt, lingerie, light dominance, oral (f!receiving), sugar daddy Elijah, Elijah being fussy, mildly possessive Elijah, lots of banter, a private fashion show, stockings, corsets, babydolls && garter belts...

@starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

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The air in the room buzzed with anticipation, your reflection in the mirror catching your attention as you fussed with the neckline of your dress.

“We are going to be late if you don’t hurry,” Elijah said, his tone calm but edged with mild impatience. He was waiting by the door, dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit, holding out your jacket to help you put it on. His voice was even, but the tap of his polished shoe betrayed his mood.

“I still can’t believe a lingerie boutique requires an appointment,” you grumbled, checking your appearance one last time in the entryway mirror. The faintest smirk tugged at Elijah’s lips as he watched your reflection fuss.

“The finest experiences always do,” Elijah murmured, stepping closer to rest his hands lightly on your hips. His chin came to rest on your shoulder, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

“You look perfect, as always,” he said, placing a kiss on your cheek before stepping back. The sincerity in his voice made your cheeks warm, a pleasant flutter stirring in your chest.

“If you say so,” you replied, letting him take your hand as you headed out the door.

"I do say so," he insisted, walking around to open the passenger door of his car for you. "I also say we are going to be late. We should have left five minutes ago."

You rolled your eyes at his insistence but hurried to get in the car. He closed the door behind you and quickly got in the driver's seat. The two of you were soon heading down the road. He placed his hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. You smiled and laid your hand over his, threading your fingers through his.

"Is this necessary?" you began, hesitating. "I mean... It's very sweet of you, but isn't it a little..." You trailed off, unsure how to put your thoughts into words.

"It is completely necessary. As my wife, you deserve the finest things life has to offer. Especially when it comes to your attire," Elijah answered, glancing at you before turning his attention back to the road.

"And that includes lingerie?" you asked, arching an eyebrow at him, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

He gave a slight nod, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"It is quite important, yes. There is a difference between wearing a piece of cloth and wearing a piece of art. The latter is what I envision for my beautiful wife." He replied, squeezing your thigh once more.

"So basically, you want me to look pretty for you?" you questioned, trying not to giggle at the sincerity of his words.

"You are always pretty. Even in a paper sack, you are stunning," he answered, his tone soft as he brought your joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of your hand.

"Oh, you are so smooth, Mr. Mikaelson. So very smooth," you said, shaking your head as you grinned at him.

"Only with you, Mrs. Mikaelson," he responded, flashing you his adorable crooked smile before he turned into the parking lot of a high-end shopping mall.

You let out a soft chuckle, rolling your eyes as you watched him find a parking space. Once the car was parked, you went to unbuckle your seatbelt. He was there in a blink of an eye, opening the car door and helping you out. He offered his arm, and you took it, linking your arm through his as the two of you headed toward the store.

When you entered the store, you were met with an employee who immediately took notice of the two of you.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mikaelson! Welcome. It is so good to meet you. We are excited to have the opportunity to help you today," the young woman greeted, her eyes bright as she ushered the two of you over to a large changing room suite with a leather sofa in the middle of the room.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable. We have water, coffee, tea, or champagne for you. Just let me know if there is anything else I can get for you. My name is Marisol," the girl said, gesturing to the table beside the sofa.

"Thank you, Marisol," Elijah said, giving her a charming smile. "Two glasses of champagne, please."

"Of course," she replied, returning his smile.

"Now, why don't you tell us about the collection you've prepared?" Elijah asked, sitting back on the couch, draping his arm around your shoulders.

He was such a natural in this sort of environment. His air of confidence was magnetic, almost disarming.

Marisol launched into a spiel about the latest collections the store had to offer, detailing the styles and fabrics used. She explained the benefits of each item, the best ways to care for them, and the importance of fit. You found yourself relaxing as her thoroughness seemed to match Elijah’s meticulous nature perfectly.

Elijah listened attentively, nodding along with her as he rubbed circles into your lower back. His steady presence grounded you, a subtle reminder that he thrived in moments where you felt unsure. You were thankful he was there because you had no idea where to start. This wasn't your thing, and he knew that.

When she finished speaking, she excused herself to get the items she had preselected for you. She returned with a rack of various styles and colors of lingerie, as well as some nightgowns and robes.

You stood and began to browse, while Marisol hovered close by. Elijah, however, made himself comfortable, taking the glass of champagne Marisol had poured for him and settling back into the couch.

"These are just samples, Mrs. Mikaelson, to give you an idea of the style and feel. Each piece is tailored for our clients, ensuring a perfect fit," Marisol said, giving you a warm smile.

"What do you think about this?" you asked, picking up a pale blue babydoll with a matching thong.

"It's a beautiful color. We also have a matching garter belt if you'd like to try it with stockings," Marisol suggested.

You looked at Elijah, raising an eyebrow. He nodded in approval, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"I'll leave you two to browse. If you need anything, please let me know," Marisol said, disappearing out the door, closing it behind her.

Elijah watched her go before placing his glass on the table and walking over to where you stood, inspecting the babydoll.

"It's lovely," he murmured, placing his hand on your waist. His fingers skimmed the delicate fabric, testing its softness.

"I didn't know what to expect when you said you wanted to take me lingerie shopping," you said, leaning back into him.

"Well, now you know. And I intend to spoil you rotten," he replied, placing a kiss on your neck.

"Why?" you asked, turning to face him.

"Because I love you and I can," he answered, pulling you closer.

You giggled and shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Is it really that simple?" you asked, arching an eyebrow.

"That simple and yet so very complicated," he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against yours.

"You're impossible," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"But you love me anyway," he said, giving you a smile. "Now, try on some of these beautiful things for me."

"Bossy," you mumbled, turning away from him.

He swatted your bottom lightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. You squealed in surprise and gave him a playful glare.

The first piece was a pale pink set, the bra made of lace, the panties barely more than a scrap of silk. You stood in front of a giant mirror, watching Elijah's reaction. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. He was silent for a moment, just staring at you, before he walked up behind you. He placed his hands on your hips, gently tugging on the straps of the bra.

"Perfect fit," he murmured, his tone low and approving. His fingers adjusted the straps with the precision of someone entirely too focused, as though inspecting art rather than lingerie.

"Do you think I should get it?" you asked, pressing back against him.

"I think you should get all of it," he replied, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"'Lijah, that's literally thousands of dollars worth of lingerie," you whispered, feeling a flush spread across your cheeks.

"And worth every penny," he answered, his tone matter-of-fact, as though there was no other acceptable response.

You giggled and turned to face him, placing your hands on his chest. "Such a big spender," you teased.

"Only for the woman I love," he said, leaning down to capture your lips.

The kiss was soft and slow, his hands roaming your body, gently tugging on the fabric of the lingerie. He pulled back and smiled at you, his eyes bright with mischief.

"Now, show me more,"

It had been around a week since your delightful shopping trip. Elijah had insisted on buying you the whole collection, despite your protests. But secretly, you had enjoyed having him dote on you. It made you feel loved and cherished.

Now, the two of you were spending a lazy afternoon together, lounging on the couch. Elijah was reading, while you were cuddled up against his side, watching TV. It was a rare day where he was dressed casually, in a pair of dark jeans and a white t-shirt. But even his casual clothes were expensive and well tailored.

He had an arm wrapped around you, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing circles on your hip. The gentle motion was relaxing and you found yourself starting to drift off.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, jolting you from your near sleep state. You looked up to see Elijah smirking down at you, a knowing twinkle in his dark eyes.

"I think our order has finally arrived," he said, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

"Orders," you corrected, giggling as he rolled his eyes.

"Semantics," he grumbled, placing a kiss to the top of your head as he rose to his feet.

He disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone. You sat up, stretching your arms above your head, a small yawn escaping your lips.

You could hear Elijah's deep voice mingling with the delivery man's. They were talking about the weather and other trivial things, making small talk.

Elijah reappeared a few minutes later, carrying a number or large boxes, stacked neatly in his arms.

"Looks like we got a bit carried away," he said, a smirk pulling at his lips as he placed the boxes on the coffee table.

"Maybe just a little," you replied, laughing softly.

He grinned and leaned down to kiss your cheek, before he opened the first box, pulling out the contents. You watched as he inspected the fabric, the soft material running through his fingers.

"Beautiful stitching, they don't make garments like this anymore," he commented.

He continued in this way, inspecting each piece carefully. His brow furrowed as he ran his fingers along the seams, testing the strength of the fabric.

You couldn't help but laugh, finding his intense focus on something as simple as lingerie adorable. He glanced at you, a hint of a smile playing at his lips, but continued with his task.

"Do you want me to try it on for you?" You asked, biting your lip to keep from giggling.

"Darling, why do you think I bought it for you?" He asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You giggled and shook your head, standing and grabbing the closest box. You took it with you, heading to the bedroom, the sound of his soft chuckle echoing behind you.

Once in the bedroom, you quickly stripped down and picked out the first piece that caught your eye, a deep green babydoll. The color was striking, complementing your complexion, and the fabric felt like liquid silk against your fingertips.

You slid the straps over your shoulders and adjusted the cups. The hem fell to just above your thighs, and the neckline was cut low enough to give him a good view.

You admired your reflection, twisting and turning to get a better look at the lingerie. The soft, delicate fabric felt incredible against your skin. It was unlike anything you'd ever worn before. Each stitch seemed to whisper luxury, and for a moment, you forgot about the price tag, lost in the sensation of feeling both elegant and utterly desirable.

A low whistle echoed through the room, causing you to turn around. Elijah was leaning against the doorframe, a crooked smile on his handsome face.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his dark eyes raking over your body.

"You don't look so bad yourself," you said, smirking at him.

"Why thank you, darling," he replied, sauntering over to you.

He placed his hands on your waist, gently turning you around so that you were facing the mirror again.

"This could be adjusted though," he murmured, tugging on a piece of fabric.

"What do you mean?" You asked, frowning at his reflection.

"Just a bit loose here," he answered, adjusting the straps.

"You are so picky," you teased, grinning at him.

"My tailor could probably-" He started, but you cut him off.

"Nope, no tailor. It's perfect," you protested, turning to face him.

"Are you sure?" He asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Positive," you replied, leaning up to place a soft kiss to his lips.

You splayed your hands on his chest, pushing him backward toward the bed. He smirked, his hands resting on your hips. When the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, he sat down, looking up at you.

"Sit and watch. No touching," you commanded, smirking as he nodded and obeyed.

You stepped back, turning around so that he could get a full view. You swayed your hips, teasing him, before slowly bending down. You grabbed the hem of your panties and slowly dragged them down, exposing your bare bottom to him.

You heard a soft groan from behind you and glanced over your shoulder, smirking at him.

"Which one do you want me to try on next?" you asked, biting your lip as you stood up, turning to face him.

"The white one," he murmured, his gaze heated as he watched you.

You sauntered over to the boxes and picked out the white corset. With his eyes glued to you, you slipped the garment on, the lace covering your breasts, the silk ribbon criss-crossing your torso. You tightened the ribbons, the corset squeezing your breasts and waist.

This piece also came with stockings, so you took your time, rolling the sheer white material up your legs, clipping them to the matching garter belt. Then you slipped on some white heels to complete the look.

Elijah’s sharp inhale was almost imperceptible, but the intensity in his gaze gave him away.

"I think this is my favorite," Elijah mused, his dark eyes raking over your body appreciatively.

"I can tell," you teased, glancing at the growing bulge in his pants.

He smiled and rose to his feet, walking over to you. His warm hands skimmed over the smooth material, his fingers deftly tightening the ribbons in the front. The way he handled you and the corset was equal parts calculated and reverent, as if you were a piece of art he was refining.

"I confess... I have a certain affinity for corsets," he murmured, his voice low. There was something almost wistful in his tone, as though the sight of you had awakened a long-buried memory or desire.

"Oh, I know," you replied, smirking as he pulled the ribbons tighter, making your breasts spill out the top.

His eyes darkened further, a flicker of hunger crossing his features. He hummed appreciatively, his lips ghosting over the swell of your breast. The heat of his breath was a promise, igniting sparks that danced along your skin.

"This one is perfect," he said, his breath warm against your skin.

"Glad you think so," you whispered, shivering as his lips trailed up your neck.

Elijah's hands continued their slow exploration, his thumbs skimming the delicate lace covering your thighs. You leaned into his touch, breath hitching as he pulled you closer. His lips brushed over your collarbone, featherlight and teasing, before his mouth found your ear.

“I’m beginning to think this delicate fabric might be too fragile for what I have in mind,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

You smirked, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “And here I thought you liked to savor things.”

He chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through his chest.

"Oh, I do. But I occasionally like to devour," he said, his teeth nipping at your neck.

Your breath hitched, his words sending a rush of heat straight to your core.

"Then why don't you start?" You challenged, arching an eyebrow at him.

His dark eyes flashed with desire, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. Suddenly, he lifted you up and tossed you over his shoulder, the action causing you to shriek with surprise and your heels to fall off.

His hands rested firmly on your ass, kneading and massaging the soft flesh as he carried you to the bed. You couldn’t help but laugh, squirming against him as he playfully smacked your bottom.

He placed you gently onto the bed, his eyes roaming over your body. You looked up at your handsome husband, his hair falling in his face, his eyes dark with desire.

You reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down toward you. Your lips met in a heated kiss, and his hands moved underneath you, cradling your lower back and pulling you closer.

You slid your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. He groaned softly, pressing his forehead against yours. The weight of his body pressed into yours felt grounding, his strength wrapping around you like a shield.

You tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Your hands traced his bare chest, and down his arms. The muscles underneath your touch were hard and powerful, his skin smooth and warm. Even after years of being together, you always marveled at his strength and the power contained in his body.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to not touch you as I watched you try on all those gorgeous pieces? Watching your face as you put on each garment... My patience is running thin," he groaned, the roughness in his voice making you whimper.

"I recall you doing lots of touching," you murmured, giggling softly.

"That's not what I meant, darling," he growled, his fingers hooking into the edge of your corset.

"Oh? Then what did you mean, Mr. Mikaelson?" you asked, tilting your head to the side.

His hands tightened on the garment, and you saw the threads start to pull away from the seams. You couldn't believe he would actually rip it off, not after all the fussing and adjusting he had done earlier.

You watched the material tear under his fingers, a gasp of shock escaping your lips. His hands tore the corset apart, spitting the expensive garment like tissue, exposing your naked breasts to the cool air of the room.

"Did you really spend a thousand dollars on something that you planned on tearing?" You asked, smirking up at him.

"Two thousand," he replied, leaning down to nip at your neck.

You giggled, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down to your breasts. He nipped at your nipple before taking it in his mouth, sucking and biting, drawing a soft moan from you.

His hands slid up your thighs, fingers brushing against the soft material of the stockings. His gaze flickered over to your legs, admiring the way the delicate fabric stretched across your curves. He had always loved the way a women looked in stockings, the way the sheer material clung to their thighs, accentuating every delicious inch of skin. But seeing you, his wife, wrapped in them... Well, he didn't think he would ever tire of that view.

"Such beautiful legs," he murmured, his hands skimming along your calves before resting on the inside of your thighs.

His eyes met yours as his thumbs brushed over your silk panties, rubbing gentle circles over your clit. He grinned at the way your face flushed, watching your eyelashes flutter as his fingers pushed them to the side. He teased your wet heat, circling your entrance before easing two fingers inside, pumping slowly.

A low growl rumbled in his throat when he felt you clench around his fingers. The way your thighs squeezed together made him desperate for more, made him crave the feeling of you wrapped around his cock.

"I love it when you squirm like that," he groaned, leaning down to capture your lips.

He kissed you hard and deep, his tongue sweeping across yours. You let out a soft protest as he pulled his fingers away, only to feel him push them into your mouth, coating your tongue with your arousal.

Your eyes met his, your heart hammering in your chest at the feral gleam in his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, the dark irises nearly swallowing the amber. Rarely did this rough, dominating side of him make an appearance, but when it did, it took your breath away.

You whimpered when his fingers left your mouth, watching him decide what to do next. Your breathing hitched as he hooked a finger around your panties, pulling the soaked fabric away from your skin.

There was a tearing sound and you gasped when he ripped them from your body. He grinned at your surprised expression, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

You giggled as he tossed your panties over his shoulder, but the sound quickly turned into a squeal as his hands went to your hips before flipping you onto your stomach.

His hands traced the curves of your ass before moving between your thighs, fingers trailing up and down your slit, spreading your wetness around. Your hips rocked against him, seeking more of his touch. You couldn't help the breathless moans escaping your lips, or the way your body shivered in anticipation.

His lips ghosted over your skin, placing wet open-mouthed kisses along the column of your spine, moving lower and lower. Your hands curled into the sheets at the feeling of his tongue dipping in-between your cheeks.

He groaned at the taste of you, somehow made sweeter when you were clad in silk. He reached up and pushed your head down into the sheets, holding you in place, the way the bed sheets muffled your moans driving him wild.

Your mind went blank when he plunged his tongue inside of you, lapping up your wetness. He growled as he licked you clean, his grip on you tightening when you tried to squirm away, desperate for friction against your throbbing clit.

Suddenly, he smacked your ass, causing you to gasp and jump slightly. The sharp sting was quickly replaced by the warmth of his hand as he massaged your bottom. His thumb pressed against your clit, causing you to let out a soft sob of relief.

The pleasure was quickly becoming unbearable, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to send you over the edge. The sensation was overwhelming, your mind reeling and your body shaking from the intensity of the sensation.

You let out a low, shuddering moan as you came, your whole body quivering beneath his hands. Your breathing was ragged as you rode out your orgasm, your toes curling, thighs clenching together as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

When he finally stopped, you collapsed against the sheets, spent and breathless. You whimpered when you felt his lips brush against your ear.

"That was just an appetizer, darling," he whispered, the deep tone of his voice making your stomach flutter.

You could hear him unzip his pants, then the sound of fabric rustling as he kicked off his jeans. You turned to look at him, catching a glimpse of his hard, thick length before he grabbed your hips and pulled you onto all fours.

You both let out a soft sigh of relief as your bodies joined, his thick cock stretching you as he filled you completely. He rocked his hips, his movements slow yet firm, enjoying the feeling of your tight heat enveloping him.

He held you in place as he thrust deep inside you, his grip on your hips bruising. His hand coming down to smack your ass again and again, and the sound was music to his ears, causing his pace to quicken.

"I'm going to ruin every single piece I bought for you, sweetheart," he growled, his fingers digging into your skin. "Then we can go back and buy some more. Would you like that?"

"Yes, 'Lijah," you gasped, gripping the sheets tightly.

You moaned as he increased the pace, his movements becoming faster and harder, sending you crashing over the edge. He grunted as your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, making him see stars.

The room filled with the sounds of his grunts and your moans, the scent of sex heavy in the air. It was intoxicating, the way he moved, the way he controlled your body and the rhythm of his thrusts.

"I'm close, baby," he groaned, his voice strained. "I want you to cum with me."

He pulled you up, wrapping his arms around your waist and holding you against his chest. His lips ghosted over your shoulder, his fangs sinking into your neck, his bite a pleasurable pain that pushed you over the edge.

He growled as you came, the taste of your blood driving him wild and he swiftly followed.

You were both still panting, his chest pressed against your back, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly.

He hummed softly, kissing your neck tenderly. His hands smoothed down your sides, his touch featherlight as he trailed his fingers across the lace trim.

"This lingerie really is quite exquisite," he murmured, his tone reverent.

"It really is," you agreed, giggling softly.

You relaxed against him, his body molded perfectly to yours. He gently helped you to your feet, before scooping you up and carrying you to the bathroom.

He turned on the water, letting it heat up as he peeled the remaining garments from your body, admiring each piece as he went.

Once the steam filled the room, he pulled you into the shower, the warm water cascading over both of you.

"Next time, we should go suit shopping," you mused, smiling up at him.

"Is that so?" He asked, grinning down at you.

"Mmm-hmm. You like me in stockings? I like you in a three-piece suit. A nice, tailored one," you purred, biting your lip.

He chuckled, pulling you closer. "Do you plan on tearing it off of me?"

"Maybe," you said, giggling as he pressed you against the tile.

"I suppose we'll just have to see, won't we?" He teased, smirking down at you.

"I suppose we will," you replied, grinning up at him.

You could hardly wait.

#elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvdu #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine #elijah mikealson smut

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laurellala-comics · 3 days ago

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I've been having so much fun with my Ace Attorney comics lately but I've been feeling the pull to do original stuff again. So to ease into the transition, here is my (very first!) comedy zine. You may spot some familiar faces B)

Thanks for reading my goofiness! I'm including some nerd thoughts about zines under the cut

Zines are sooo cool and I assume most people have heard of them since this is tumblr BUT if you haven't! Zine is short for magazine (pronounced "zeen" it does not rhyme with vine). It usually refers to handmade pamphlets that can be created by folding and cutting a single sheet of paper, which is what I did, but it can be used for any sort of self made publication. The goal is to make something that can be reprinted and shared so mine is technically not in the spirit of that because of all my little interactive details but shh that's fine. Zines have been used in sooo many ways (Was Martin Luther's 95 theses not in a way the first zine (this is a joke)) but they are especially recognized as part of the punk movement as a way of fighting back against mainstream media and of sharing information around! It was a way to get around censorship and spread the word about social movements and political messages buuuut it has also always been used to share fun things, like music recommendations OR FAMOUSLY. STAR TREK SPOCK KIRK FAN FICTION (this is real and there are academic papers about this). Some of the earliest m/m fanfic was passed along through zines because they did not have ao3 back then! All they had was a typewriter and a dream! It's actually sooo silly, but I took a class in college that heavily emphasized these zines as leading to the fandom culture we had today, so they really did shape the world we live in today. Tumblr posts are like our own little zines that we share, with our own messages and thoughts and yes even hand drawn gay people...

Anyway, like I mentioned, in these fandom spaces you had queer zines that were about explicitly romantic and sexual relationships between fictional men. At the time, slash shipping was not the most common way to engage with fandom, but today it has become very mainstream and widely accepted amongst the fandom. But you know what queer behaviors are still not mainstream within fandom spaces, even within queer fandom spaces? Aro ace rep babyyyy. With that in mind, I feel like what is considered radical and abnormal these days in queer fandom spaces is to engage with fictional men (or any characters) from an aromantic or asexual lens. And so I am here to hold your hand and walk you through the wonderful radical world of imagining non-romantic scenarios with fictional guys. You can have so much fun with it and I think more people should do it. What if you stood in line at the bank and your favorite anime man was in front of you. What if you had to go in for jury duty and the guy from five nights at freddy's was there. What if you went to the library and spock and kirk were both there researching the history of zines. In a world that expects us to prioritize one normative romantic and sexual relationship as the big thing that will bring you happiness and fulfillment, it is radical to say "actually, i could probably still be really happy and fulfilled if i had some cool friends to hang out with and do mundane things with. And also what if those friends were fictional lawyers."

Anyway. Thank you to all the spirk shippers who worked hard to get us here, I will pick up your mantle and continue to push against societal norms but with fewer sex scenes this time around. Not that you aren't valid for that, this is just personal preference. The end. Go make a zine everybody.

#rage against the machine by imagining yourself in a non romantic scenario with a fictional character! And then share it with me i wanna know #if only this was real. I would give my life to be able to complain about my job to Phoenix Wright. we would have so much fun #and although I love miles... I recognize he would never hang out with me unless I paid him. Gotta keep the fantasies realistic #i did want to call out also! When I started making it I was going to just do random girls on each page #so on the Link page I used a cut out from an old american girl magazine. But then the rest ARE me. So oops thematic inconsistency #my art #art zine #zine #comic #comics #nico di angelo #link botw #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #asexual #aro ace #aspec #aromantic #i love media i love the printing press i love the history of sharing information i love the written word yayyyy

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mylittleredgirl · 3 days ago

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i will always love the original version of the deep space nine theme song best, but i do understand why they put more zip to it in the later seasons. breathtaking musical composition, but yeah it's kinda slow for an action/adventure tv theme song, so if you're already remaking the opening sequence to add the defiant, go ahead and punch it up. good idea, good execution.

fully hilarious though that enterprise tried to do the same thing ten years later, because as memeable as faith of the heart is the Skip Intro era, it's really hard to overstate how much vitriol people had about the theme song in real time. i will say that fandom history overstates this a little because it wasn't universally treated as a sin against god, there were at least twelve diehard trekkies out there (including me) who looked at this gorgeous intro sequence paired with a mediocre cover of a rod stewart song and went "hmm. weird choice, but you make a good point, i would like to have strength of the soul and reach any star."

but the star trek fans who like being mad about star trek were frothing at the mouth. it wasn't just silly and bad this was the rallying point for how enterprise was an affront to star trek. they were NOT going to take it lying down, they had torches they had pitchforks, they were nailing a list of grievances to the church door and THE FUCKING THEME SONG HAS LYRICS was thesis #1.

(followed by "why are the vulcans jerks :(" and an itemized list of every single canon inconsistency)

so it is so, so fucking funny to imagine the network meeting that must have taken place sometime in late season two when they were bleeding audience numbers and UPN started making the worst previews of all time ("tune in for next week's SPECIAL ENTERPRISE EVENT: ✨Canamar✨!") (the previews also spoiled the ending of every episode for months, like they weren't just bad they were actively damaging) (it was soooo so hard to have a good time as an enterprise fan in 2003).

so this meeting happens and they go okay. we know what to do here. first up. put "star trek" back in the name (it was just "enterprise" for the first two seasons to "attract a new audience"). next. is there a way we can make this about 9/11. great great good job. can we put jolene in a different catsuit? and then some intern whose job it is to monitor the forums on television without pity timidly reminds them about the torches and pitchforks and they're like oh yeah we should remix the theme song! and the intern is like WHEW so should i book an orchestra for like an hour to do an instrumental version of the closing credits and then bermaga or some clown at UPN is like no no no you're not getting it. the lyrics aren't the problem. they just don't understand our vision because there weren't enough bongos.

#faith of the heart (punitive remix)#don't come at me if they're not bongos you KNOW that SPIRITUALLY those are BONGOS #i'm telling you it is so funny EVERY time someone starts enterprise and they're like okay i was warned about the theme song #but it seems... like... i mean it's kind of ok? i'm getting into it?#and i'm like :) just wait :)#and they come back to me in season three like I'M FUCKING SORRY WHAT????#it never gets old #oh my god. imagine if they lose the rights someday and it ends up becoming instrumental after the fact #enterprise #star trek thoughts

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loredrinker · 3 days ago

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Inflection, Context, and Elven: Lavellan’s Veilguard Ending (romance state)

Lately, I’ve seen quite a bit of criticism directed at a romanced Lavellan on my dash - particularly in the Veilguard ending, interpreting her as needy, egotistical, or entitled.

And I am wondering: Did we watch the same ending? (I find it fascinating how differently people interpret the same moments - such a reflection of the human experience.) And I couldn't help myself! I felt compelled to share my interpretations so I punched this out the last few days.

The sticking point seems to be Lavellan’s words, especially the ones spoken in Elven.

It seems like a common interpretation of Lavellan’s words here are:

“It won’t be terrible if you’re with me.” (Implying possessiveness or entitlement - and that she alone will make it better.)

The game’s delivery offers no inflection on any word though. For me, it’s always been:

“It won’t be terrible if you’re with me.”

It’s subtle, but very different. This is just one micro-example of how much nuance is packed into the dialogue in the Veilguard ending. These lines shouldn’t be taken in isolation - especially not the Elven ones. They should be understood in the context of what Solas says to Lavellan in Elven just before, and beyond that, within the history established in Inquisition and Trespasser.

Indulgent Solas x Lavellan post ahead.

Note: I respect and appreciate all Solas ships and I will never post negativity towards other interpretations in this space. Everyone deserves to enjoy their creativity and find joy in their community. There’s more than enough Solas to go around. As for Lavellan’s portrayal in VG, it's not perfect. I understand the devs had the impossible task of balancing every interpretation of her. Some dialogue between Rook and Lavellan took me out of gameplay a bit. But I recognized then they had to condense countless versions of her into one, and perfection wasn’t possible. In general I have honest criticisms about the game but try to keep my posts positive overall.

Still here? Excellent. (And sorry, it's another long post.)

"Elven is often a game of intents, not direct mapping of phonetic meaning." The language doesn’t rely on straightforward translations of sounds or words into specific meanings. Instead, it operates on a deeper level, where intent and context carry as much weight.

Earlier in the game, when Solas confronts Elgar’nan, he says: “I must speak to you in this tongue. It seems Elven is beyond your grasp.” This insult implies that Elgar’nan has lost the ability to understand the nuanced, metaphorical nature of the language. Elven relies on shared understanding, rhythm, intent, to convey its full meaning. By Lavellan and Solas choosing to speak Elven to each other it's an acknowledgement of their shared understanding - a connection rooted in their history going back to Inquisition.

Which is why I embrace it in my interpretations.

I disliked that Veilguard kept out the Elven words and left only the English translations in. They can be found here: (Elven Language - Dragon Age Wiki) But for funsies, let's take Lavellan’s actual Elven dialogue and translate it literally: Banal nadas. Ar lath ma, vhenan. We already know from Inquisition that Banal nadas translates roughly to "Nothing is inevitable" - the same phrase Solas uses when confronting the Nightmare Demon. So Lavellan is saying: "Nothing is inevitable. I love you, my heart." The gall of this woman!

Since I do my best to keep my posts playing in the game’s sandbox, I’m going to just look at what the game tells us the translations are and not get into actual translations (others have done that far better than I ever could). There are some great fandom language resources linked at the end of this post.

Let's start where Lavellan enters and speaks in the common tongue:

This is personal and expansive. On one level, she’s speaking as someone Solas has wronged, reminding him of the pain he’s caused her directly. But on another, she’s channeling the voices of countless others whose lives were affected by him and who will be shattered by his actions. It’s a challenge that blends her role as both an individual and the Inquisitor.

It’s also not a condemnation. Lavellan doesn’t lash out or accuse him of being irredeemable. Instead, she questions him, cutting through to reach the man beneath. She’s speaking to Solas (wisdom).

"Vhenan" is acknowledging his love for her but it’s also symbolic of his heart, the part of himself he’s buried and tried to ignore, suddenly reappearing. Solas has spent much of his journey detached and isolated, removing his heart metaphorically to push forward with his plans without the weight of emotional ties. Lavellan’s presence makes it impossible for him to keep it hidden. His heart is right there, exposed and speaking. And the ellipsis - so many words unsaid.

Immediately Solas looks down (I read it as shame). It’s a reaction back to what he said in Trespasser: that he would not have her see what he becomes. And yet, here she is. She sees him, the terrible path he has chosen, the blood on his hands, the awful things he has done, and what he’s about to do. In that moment, his shame is palpable - because Lavellan is one person he couldn’t bear to face in this state.

And Lavellan doesn’t hesitate. Her next words are as much about holding him accountable as they are about reminding him that there is still another path.

This isn’t some starry-eyed, naïve Inquisitor we’re dealing with (at least mine isn’t). Lavellan is fully aware at this point. But her stance is clear: no one is beyond redemption, not even the Dread Wolf himself. And she wasn’t the only one – this message is repeated throughout the game by others.

Her words challenge the belief that has kept Solas shackled to his path. He’s convinced himself that his guilt and mistakes are too great, that there’s no turning back, and that the only option is to see his destructive plans through to the bitter end.

She doesn’t beg or demand or frame it in a way that’s grand and sweeping – she simply says “you’re wrong.”

She’s not trying to erase his mistakes or pretend they don’t exist. She's saying, Yes, you’ve done terrible things, but that doesn’t mean you’re beyond the reach of change.

Lavellan’s journey as Inquisitor began with the Anchor - a mark born of Solas’s mistakes and choices. From the moment she touched his orb (yes, it sounds dirty), her path became entwined with his. This isn’t Lavellan selfishly claiming Solas’s path; it’s an acknowledgment that their journeys have run parallel.

Their connection was forged long before either fully understood its implications. Lavellan’s work to stabilize Southern Thedas mirrors Solas’s aim to restore a broken world, including the burdens of being forced to take on titles and labels. She is revealing her own struggles with devastating, blood-soaked choices - choices that, like his, have carried profound consequences.

Solas believes he’s been walking this path alone, but Lavellan shows him she's been walking alongside him this whole time. Now, as their paths converge again, this is a reminder of the power of connection and the burdens they’ve both borne. He's actually not alone.

Her words also carry an unspoken promise: she is ready to continue to bear the consequences with him. She knows the road ahead is painful and fraught with difficulty, but she is steadfast.

Why do I feel that people sometimes forget Lavellan’s role as Inquisitor? She wasn’t defined by Solas; she was the leader of a powerful military and political organization, forced to make horrible decisions. Whether you choose the mages or templars in Inquisition, you doom thousands to torment and death. The Empress of Orlais can live or die based on the Inquisitor’s choices. And if you’re like me and made the wrong calls on the Dalish clan war table operation, her own clan can be murdered and wiped out. (Yes, I’m still haunted by that moment.) Her hands have blood on them too. This makes me wonder: does some criticism of the Solas/Lavellan romance stem from failing to see Lavellan as her own person? I love Lavellan for who she is as the Inquisitor - not because of Solas. Likewise, Solas is fascinating on his own. Their romance is one layer of the story, not the foundation of either character. Sometimes it feels like there are even some Solas/Lavellan lovers who have a tendency to overlook the depth and individuality of both characters outside of their romance.

Solas’s statement is a raw admission of all the guilt he carries for his deceptions and the pain he has caused her - lying to her about his identity, betraying her trust - not just as the Inquisitor, but as a person he loves.

His words are not an attempt to seek forgiveness but an acknowledgment of the truth - no matter how painful it is for them both. He knows his choices have caused devastation to the world and to her specifically. He's exposing the full weight of his dual burden: the grand, world-altering consequences of his plans and the personal betrayal of the woman he loves, who trusted him.

Perhaps, on some level, he hopes that reminding Lavellan of his lies and treachery will convince her to abandon him, sparing her further pain. His guilt and self-loathing are so entrenched that the idea of being forgiven - or even supported – either confounds him or terrifies him.

But Solas’s confession is not just a shield to push her away. It’s also an invitation for her to see him - not the wise, compassionate companion she knew, but the flawed, broken man beneath.

This moment to me shows that Solas still values Lavellan’s understanding (we also saw it in his letter to her). He doesn’t diminish the weight of his actions but wants her to see the cost of his deception - not just for her, but for himself. To Solas, his betrayal is unforgivable.

And yet - this "selfish" woman dares to forgive him anyway.

Forgiveness is an act of wisdom because it requires understanding - and she reflects that wisdom right back at him.

"All you have to do is stop" is heavy with meaning. Yes, on the surface, it’s a plea to stop tearing down the Veil, to reconsider the destruction. But it’s also a plea for him to stop running, to stop isolating himself, and to stop punishing himself for his failures. She’s asking him to step out of the shadow of his self-loathing and see that there’s another way forward, not by demanding or commanding, but by offering him compassion (forgiveness). (Cole, I miss you.)

But Solas’s guilt and self-loathing run deep.

With these words, Solas apologizes to his heart - hardening it once more. For a moment, it had softened, cracked open. But he shuts the door.

The bow that accompanies his words is loaded. A bow carries layers of meaning depending on context - reverence, respect, gratitude, apology, greeting or farewell, a spiritual act, acknowledgment, loyalty, mourning, or even a romantic gesture. Solas’s bow can mean all of these.

He is physically reinforcing the gravity of his apology. It’s a solemn moment. He is bowing to her strength, to all she has endured because of him. And when he calls her "vhenan," it is personal. It's an apology to her and to his own heart for not choosing the life he wanted to have with her. “...to stay by your side as Solas...as I wanted.”

The bow also carries guilt. He is acknowledging the pain he’s caused and humbling himself before her. And his eyes in the animation during this moment – I saw haunted, tormented, tired eyes – the eyes of a man grappling with the weight of his choices and the thought that he cannot accept redemption, even if it’s offered freely.

Time for a an indulgent moment - a bow can also symbolize acceptance. What if, in that moment, it’s not just an apology? What if it’s Solas saying, “You’re right. You have walked this path with me. I acknowledge that.” The bow could be a tacit agreement - a recognition of a future with her. What if he’s asking: I’m sorry, but I can’t stop, are you still coming with me? And Lavellan’s eyes right after? She looks down, like she’s contemplating this - what if he tears the Veil down? What happens next? What do I do? Anyway, maybe I indulged with this thought a little too much.

But, as I’ve said before, it takes a village to stop a Solas. Cue Morrigan and Mythal - but I’m not diving into that dialogue rabbit hole in this post.

But this scene with Mythal is important. Lavellan has just watched the man she loves completely crumble in front of Mythal. He’s bent over in grief/pain, utterly vulnerable. She hears him say, in anguish, “The things that I have done.” She sees him lift the dagger - perhaps to surrender it, to shield himself from Mythal, or even as a plea to Mythal to end his torment. Whatever the intent, Lavellan is witnessing the rawest, most broken Solas. His guilt is overwhelming, and this is the first time she’s truly seeing the full weight of it laid bare (as is Rook). It’s a moment of heavy sadness for her – and for us as players.

This scene seems to have created a universal understanding among players who love Solas, regardless of who you ship Solas with. We are all witnessing Solas in this moment of pure vulnerability. Let’s honor that shared empathy.

Solas is bent over with the emotional collapse of centuries of obligation and guilt coming to the surface. Mythal’s departure leaves Solas vulnerable, stripped of the purpose that has guided him for so long. He is alone in his pain.

For Lavellan, can you imagine the helplessness? All she can do is offer her presence, understanding, and faith in him afterward. That might feel like so little in the face of such immense pain, but it’s all she has to give.

Where Mythal’s words, spoken in the common tongue, are authoritative and final, Lavellan’s are intimate and personal. Her choice to speak Elven reflects her desire to meet Solas where he is - connecting with him on an intimate level.

Only after Mythal has left him exposed - that Lavellan uses the Elven language. In this moment, stripped of his defenses, he is finally open to hearing and feeling the full significance of the words and their intent.

Lavellan’s words challenge the notion that fate is immutable or inevitable. When she says, “there is no fate...,” she isn’t diminishing everything else in favor of her love; she’s rejecting the tyranny of inevitability. Her words assert that choices - rooted in love, connection, and shared purpose - have the power to shape their path forward. She reframes love as a force just as powerful as fate, capable of creating meaning and direction where there once seemed to be none.

Atonement

And at this point? Lavellan has no idea what Solas will do next. None of them do. But the combined efforts of Rook, Lavellan and Morrigan get through to him. Because Solas makes a choice - a monumental choice. He binds himself to the veil, committing to atonement. Atonement is a powerful, active word. It evokes the gravity of recognizing wrongdoing and the courage to address it. His decision to seek restoration with the Titans, to deal with the Blight, to return to where it all began, reflects the depth of his remorse and his willingness to rebuild the balance he disrupted – from the beginning.

Solas equates atonement with isolation, believing that his punishment must be borne alone. To him, atonement requires severing ties, including the possibility of love. He doesn’t ask Lavellan to join him because he cannot conceive of burdening her with the weight of his choices and the path he must walk.

But Lavellan’s words - once again - challenge that. She offers him the possibility that his actions, no matter how devastating, do not erase the love and faith others still have in him. This is an invitation.

She's also being vulnerable here. She’s offering herself to him, knowing full well that he still might say no. A risk she’s willing to take.

He doesn’t try to shut her out or push her away this time. Instead, he shifts the focus - he needs her to understand the gravity of the path they are about to walk. His response reflects his own vulnerability as well, he wants her to know what she’s choosing, but he can’t bring himself to reject her offer outright.

Solas responds in Elven - his acknowledgment of their shared understanding and their entire relationship and journey that has shaped them.

His words also mark a turning point: for the first time, Solas allows Lavellan her agency. Throughout their relationship, he has taken her choices away. He broke off their relationship in Inquisition. He vanished after Corypheus’s defeat, leaving her no say in it all.

And he knows this! During their confrontation in Trespasser, when Lavellan demands answers, he justifies his deception with, “And what would you have had me say? That I was the great adversary in your people’s mythology?” Her cutting reply, “I would have had you trust me!” lands with devastating clarity. His face falls, struck by the hard truth: the man who values freedom has stripped hers away. And he's going to do it again.

This moment in Veilguard feels like a callback to that. Lavellan is asserting her choice. And this time, Solas doesn’t take it from her.

By framing his destination in such stark, "terrible" terms, Solas isn’t pushing her away out of cruelty. He’s laying bare the enormity of what lies ahead, warning her of the peril while giving her the freedom to choose for herself. It’s his way of ensuring she understands the stakes.

Solas is doing what she requested long ago - trusting her - and what a choice to place that trust in. He’s entrusting her to make an informed decision about stepping onto a path that could shape the future of Thedas. He is trusting Lavellan’s strength and resiliency. And in trusting her, Solas reveals a quiet, unspoken truth: he doesn’t want to face this journey alone. By even presenting the choice, he reveals a quiet hope that she might go with him, despite everything.

To me, what makes this moment so achingly beautiful is the duality in his expression. His eyes seem to plead two things at once: “I don’t want to put you in harm’s way,” and “I can’t deny wanting to be with you.” There’s a raw vulnerability in the way he looks at her.

“It won’t be terrible if you’re with me.”

Lavellan’s response is a direct challenge to Solas’s warning. He tells her the path ahead will be awful - because of him. But she counters, saying that it’s because of him that it won’t be. This isn’t her forcing herself into his journey or suggesting that she alone will make it better. Instead, it’s her way of expressing that his presence will give her the strength to face whatever lies ahead. She’s trying to ease his mind, while also signaling her willingness to trust him again.

At the same time, her words acknowledge the weight of Solas’s suffering, offering herself as a partner to bear that burden together. She isn’t dismissing the risks or downplaying the severity of what’s to come - she’s choosing to stand beside him, fully aware of the challenges ahead.

It’s not about personal gain; it’s about shared resilience. Lavellan’s focus is on what they can endure together, not on what she might receive from the journey.

And since the Fade reflects emotions, as many have pointed out, their combined trust and love could manifest in ways neither of them can predict. Their bond has the power to shape not just their path but the very world around them.

This declaration is past, present and future; it’s a reaffirmation of their bond, a recognition that they’ve been walking the path of the dinan’shiral together all along. It’s future focused - she is offering to shoulder the burden with him going forward.

She’s also telling him that she won't abandon him, no matter how hard the road ahead may be.

And at the end of the day, she's a woman who still loves him. What does Prince Lir say in The Last Unicorn? "I love whom I love."

I've never interpreted Lavellan as someone sitting by a window for ten years, writing sad poetry and sighing into the wind, longing for Solas. She’s been busy - rebuilding a fractured world, navigating political fallout, and seeking understanding. Lavellan’s love for Solas isn’t blind devotion; she’s holding onto the possibility of redemption and the deep impact he had on her life. In my world state, Lavellan’s clan is wiped out. The people of the Inquisition have become her family, the ones she fights for and protects. And indirectly, Solas gave her that family. Despite the pain he’s caused, her love for him reflects the complexity of her journey - one defined not by a single relationship, but by hope, resilience, and the connections she’s forged along the way.

Lavellan then leans in to kiss him, and Solas allows himself to be drawn in. This moment is acceptance - a silent vow, a promise sealed in their shared vulnerability. It’s an intimate connection forged in front of those who have just witnessed the emotional storm that brought them to this point, as if to say, “This is where we stand, together.”

While I won’t dive into fly-cam images (you can find some here), there are some tender subtle details: the way he caresses her hands with his thumbs, the way he holds onto her one hand as she pulls away, as if he’s not ready to let go. But I promised to stay within game constraints.

And then Solas turns to Rook and says, “Thank you.”

Solas doesn’t thank Rook when he hands them the dagger, nor when he’s preparing to walk into the Fade. He says it after the kiss. Make of that what you will but Rook’s is symbolic for me, especially after thinking about this ending a bit.

In thanking Rook, Solas acknowledges not only their actions but also their understanding of the connection he shares with Lavellan. Rook, transformed by their own relationships and the bonds they’ve formed throughout their journey, embodies the themes that have always defined Dragon Age to me: connection, fellowship, community, love, and redemption. These games (again, for me) have always been about how people, despite their flaws and struggles, can come together to make the impossible possible.

Rook’s symbolism in the redemption ending feels like the culmination of this ethos. They represent how even those who begin on the periphery of great events can become central to forging bonds and creating change. Solas’s gratitude is for Rook's empathy, their recognition of the importance of connection, and their role in bringing these threads of love and redemption together. I'll go cry now.

And off they go into the Fade.

The Final Translation

"With Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain dead, and the Inquisitor finally reunited with her true love, it looked like one of the biggest stories the world had ever seen was finally drawing to a close."

Varric’s narration ties the ending image back to the connection between Inquisition and Veilguard. Inquisition is the Inquisitor’s story; Veilguard is Rook’s. Solas serves as the thread linking them. Varric frames this moment through Lavellan’s perspective, narrating the story like one of his novels - not to diminish Solas, but to highlight the Inquisitor’s journey. After all, Veilguard wouldn’t exist without Inquisition. Rook wouldn’t be working with Varric or searching for Solas if not for the Inquisitor.

As much as I would have loved a deeper focus on Solas, Veilguard wasn’t his story. If Inquisition is the Inquisitor’s story and Veilguard is Rook’s, this ending is a shared culmination: for a romanced Lavellan, it’s the personal resolution of her journey; for Rook, it’s recognition of their critical role in saving Thedas.

Okay, indulgence over - whew, that was long! I really need to practice shorter posts.

In the end, those who dislike this romance or this ending probably always will. That’s fine; I just wanted to share my interpretations because I genuinely love this story for all its complexity.

To everyone who made it to the end of this post - thank you for joining me in my indulgence. May your own Solas ships continue to bring you joy and inspiration.

Elven language resources:

Project Elvehn on AO3

Elven Translator

World Anvil Elvhen Resource

Reddit on Elvhen Poetry

#solas #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #dragon age inquisition #solas analysis #lavellan #mythal #datv #Rook #solavellan #solasmancer #fandom ships #da:i #dragon age trespasser #solas x lavellan #The Last Unicorn reference!

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ginnsbaker · 2 days ago

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All Of Your Pieces (10 - Welcome Home)

Chapter Summary: “No,” you shake your head firmly. Wanda wouldn't do that to you, wouldn't impose her will on you, let alone on thousands of people. “I'm sorry,” Darcy murmurs, her voice low. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I wish I was lying, but I swear I’m not.”

“Prove it,” you demand, in a last, desperate attempt to cling to the life you've built here with Wanda, to preserve the trust you've placed in the person who means the world to you.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 6.1k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: We've reached the end of Part 1! If you've noticed the updated series masterlist, I removed the dates of when the Part 2 chapters will be published. I've decided to take my time as I've started Law school. Rest assured this series will be completed, as I have a feeling this will be my last for this pairing/fandom // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It's getting late. Families are beginning to pack up, hauling sugar-fueled, weary kids back home, as the Halloween crowd dwindles to a few costumed stragglers. One by one, the booths start shutting down, their owners announcing fifty percent off final sales in a last-ditch effort to clear their stocks. You haven't returned from your patrol, and Billy and Tommy are nowhere to be seen.

You should've been back by now. The boys, too.

Wanda’s anxiety is creeping up again. She scans the square, searching faces, but none of them are yours. None of them are Billy or Tommy's.

“Have you seen my kids, Billy and Tommy?” she asks a passing neighbor.

“Can't say I have,” he shrugs, moving along.

An uneasy feeling crawls up Wanda's spine. Where’s her family?

Then she spots Agnes, effortlessly holding court with a group of volunteers by the cotton candy stand. She hesitates, knowing full well that getting Agnes' attention usually means signing up for more than she bargained for. But if anyone has a handle on everything happening tonight, it’s her snooping, ever-present neighbor.

“Agnes!” Wanda calls out, weaving through the remnants of the crowd.

Agnes turns, eyes gleaming, her mouth already stretched wide into a blinding smile. “Wanda! What can I do for you?”

“Have you seen the boys? Or Y/N?” Wanda tries to keep the edge out of her voice.

“Oh, the boys are at my place! They heard I got a new gaming console for Ralph and just couldn't resist. Begged me to let them try it out.”

Nothing about what Agnes said makes sense. “They went to your house? Without asking me?”

“Oh, you know how boys are with their toys,” Agnes rolls her eyes. “They were so excited, I didn't have the heart to say no.”

Wanda frowns. She knows her children well—they're adventurous but always inform her or you before taking off. “They should've asked for my permission,” Wanda says.

Agnes waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud. They're safe and sound, having the time of their lives.”

“That's not the point,” Wanda snaps.

Agnes laughs, head thrown back, and it makes Wanda's skin prickle. “Come on, dear. It's Halloween. Let them have a little fun.”

Wanda takes a deep breath. “It's getting late. I'd like to bring them home now.”

“Of course, of course,” Agnes says softly, her hand resting briefly on Wanda's arm. “I’ll drive you over.”

Wanda climbs into Agatha’s car, her eyes still darting around, the unease in her chest growing tighter despite having an answer about where her kids are.

“Have you heard from Y/N?” Wanda can’t help but ask again, as if hoping for a different answer this time.

Agnes glances at her sideways. “Probably still on patrol. Dedicated, that one.”

Wanda nods, but it doesn’t ease the tightness in her chest. The streets feel longer than usual, stretching out like a labyrinth. Wherever you are, she hopes you’re doing okay, and that you’re nowhere near the boundary.

They arrive at Agnes' house shortly after. Wanda’s expecting the noise of video games coming from the living room, but the house is quiet and poorly-lit.

“After you,” Agnes says, opening the door.

Wanda steps inside, a cold breeze hitting her on the face almost immediately.

“Boys? Billy? Tommy?”

But there’s not a sign of them. In fact, there’s no sign of anyone in the house. The gaming console sits untouched near the television, controllers neatly arranged. The silence is too loud.

Wanda spins around to face her. “Where are they?”

Agnes closes the door behind them. “Oh, they might've wandered downstairs.”

“Which way?”

“Just through the kitchen and down the stairs,” Agnes points.

Wanda moves toward the basement door, her footsteps muted by an old rug. She opens it and descends the creaking wooden steps.

“Boys?” Wanda calls out.

The further she goes, the cooler the air becomes. Reaching the bottom, she finds herself in a space that doesn't match the rest of Agnes’ home.

The basement is expansive and ancient-looking, with stone walls draped in vines whose origins Wanda can't discern. There are candles spread around, making a circular enclosure of the empty spot in the middle. The room is filled with strange artifacts—old books, glass jars containing unidentifiable substances, and objects that seem out of place in a suburban home.

But none of that catches Wanda’s attention more than the fact that her kids are nowhere to be seen.

She turns back toward the stairs but Agnes is there, blocking her path.

“Looking for something?” Agnes asks innocently.

Wanda takes several steps back, her fists balling at her sides. “Who are you?”

Agnes looks pleased by that question. “The name’s Agatha Harkness. Lovely to finally meet you, dear.”

—

As soon as Darcy mentioned mind control and fabricated reality, you had to get out of the car. Darcy follows suit, and you wait for the punchline, but it never comes. It sounds crazy, but then, this town has always made you feel crazy. Maybe it's not so far-fetched after all.

But what’s inconceivable is Wanda being behind all this madness.

“Wanda? My wife Wanda?” you ask weakly, knowing there’s no one—perhaps no one within a thousand miles—who shares her name.

“Yes, but not exactly,” Darcy says. “She's manipulating everything—people, places, even time. Including you.”

Including you? You don’t feel like you’re being manipulated—not exactly. But whatever this is, it’s starting to wear thin, grating at your patience.

“Is this some kind of prank? Did Agnes put you up to this?”

“I wish it were a joke,” she bemoans, sounding like she means it. “Think about it. Do you remember anything before Westview? How you got here? Your life before this?”

“Of course I do,” you insist, but as you try to recall specifics, your memories blur—faces without names, events without context.

“What's your last clear memory before moving here?”

You try to answer, but your mind keeps drawing a blank.

“Exactly,” Darcy says gently.

You shake your head. “No, this is ridiculous.”

“I know it's hard to accept, but you have to believe me. Wanda is controlling everything, and you're a part of it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you might be the only one who can stop her. The only one she'll listen to.”

“Why me?” you ask, heart pounding. “Do you even know me?”

Darcy shifts her weight under the streetlamp. “I’ve… read about you. You're Y/N, an Avenger, just like Wanda was before... before all this.”

“An Avenger?” You frown, the word sounding not entirely foreign to your tongue. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Darcy raises a brow. “You seriously don’t remember the Avengers? Earth’s mightiest heroes? You were part of a team that saved the world—multiple times.” She says it like it should trigger something, like the name alone should spark recognition. But it doesn’t. And already, you don’t like the sound of it.

You shake your head, lips pulling into a faint grimace. “Sounds like a PR stunt. If these so-called heroes are real, they shouldn't be worshipped like celebrities.”

Darcy chuckles softly. “You know what, you have a point there. But considering one of them is literally a god, it kinda leaves me, I mean us—with, you know—no choice.”

“One of them is a god?”

“Yeah, Thor. Tall guy, wields a hammer, controls thunder. Ridiculously hot. Ring any bells?”

She might as well be describing a cartoon character. You run a hand through your hair before grabbing a fistful of it in frustration. “This is crazy.”

“It is,” Darcy agrees. “But that’s our world now, apparently.”

You take a deep breath. “If what you're saying is true—”

“I swear it is,” she insists.

“Then how did I end up here? Why would Wanda do this?”

Darcy sighs. “It’s a long story.”

You glance at your watch. It’s 11:05 in the evening. Wanda will be looking for you anytime soon.

“You have five minutes.”

—

“Where are my children?” Wanda demands, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“Where are my children?” Agatha imitates her like a parrot. “My, that accent does like to play hide and seek, doesn't it?”

“Where are they?” Wanda yells, throwing her hands up in front of her, ready for the offense. She summons her powers on Agatha, but nothing happens. The shimmering crimson she relies on fails to appear. Agatha relishes in it, letting out a boisterous giggle.

“Oh, your magic’s no good here,” Agatha reveals.

Before Wanda can react, Agatha lifts her hands, and from her fingertips erupts a swirling purple energy that crackles through the air. In an instant, the magic lashes out, snapping around Wanda's wrists and ankles. With a sharp pull, Agatha yanks her forward, the force dragging Wanda off her feet and toward the center of the room. The bindings constrict, holding her limbs in place painfully, causing Wanda to squirm.

“Didn't you notice?” Agatha smirks haughtily. “On the walls? Basic protection spell. No? Nothing? These are runes, Wanda.”

Wanda glances around, her gaze falling upon the glowing inscriptions etched into the stone but they mean nothing to her. She struggles against the magical restraints, but the more she fights, the tighter they grip.

Agatha circles her, looking very much proud of herself. “In a given space, only the witch that cast the runes can use her magic. How do you not know the fundamentals?”

Runes? Fundamentals? Wanda narrows her eyes at Agatha. “Who are you?”

Agatha smirks, tossing the question back like a live grenade. “Who are you?” she challenges, staring down the bewildered, clueless witch before her.

Confusion flashes across Wanda's face. “What are you talking about?”

Agatha starts circling her, slow, like a vulture. “You've been pulling off magic tricks that take lifetimes to master—casting illusions, transmutation, hijacking minds. All on autopilot. Without any damn training. You will tell me how you did this.”

“I didn't do anything,” Wanda protests. “I'm not—”

That seems to shatter Agatha’s last ounce of patience. She flings Wanda back and forth like a ragdoll, each toss violent and jarring, until Wanda is back where she started, gasping for breath.

“I tried to be gentle, to nudge you awake from this pathetic daydream. But you'd rather fall apart than face your truth.”

Wanda clams up, unable to refute the other woman’s words. All of a sudden, Agatha yanks a hair from Wanda's head.

Clutching the strand, Agatha murmurs, “Revelare vitae memorias.” A purple aura envelops the hair as she weaves her spell.

Wanda tugs against the magical restraints binding her. “What are you doing?”

Agatha shrugs off the question, focused on completing her spell. She conjures a door on a previously bare wall, the surface pulsing with her energy. She flicks a strand of Wanda’s hair towards it, watching as the door swallows it and burns even brighter.

“Time for some real reruns.”

—

Darcy's theory seems just as absurd with the revelation that Wanda has been controlling the entire town this whole time.

“Faking my death and not being there for Wanda when she comes back just doesn't add up,” you say, kicking a stone as you pace in circles. Darcy sits on the pavement, watching as you wear a path in the ground.

“Why not?”

You stop pacing and look Darcy squarely in the eye. “Because I love her. She doesn't need to ‘kidnap’ me to stay with her.”

Darcy throws her hands up in exasperation, looking as lost as you feel. “Look, I don't know why Wanda brought you here! I don't know why you couldn't just be together in the real world or why she did this to Westview,” she walks closer to you. “I'm just as in the dark as you are.”

Her uncertainty only adds to your doubt. “Who are you anyway, Darcy Lewis? How did you even end up here?”

Darcy sighs, realizing she hadn't properly introduced herself or explained the situation right. “Okay, yeah, sorry. I'm…an astrophysicist. S.W.O.R.D—it’s a US government agency—contacted me more than a week ago about an anomaly in New Jersey. I was outside the Hex—this red barrier enclosing all of Westview—trying to figure out what's going on here. And then I got sucked in.”

“Sucked in? How does that happen?”

Darcy hangs back, weighing what's appropriate to share and what isn't. The image of you dying mere seconds after you emerged from the barrier seems to straddle both categories, but given the incredulous way you're looking at her—as if she's sprouted ten heads—signals your dwindling trust. If she doesn’t talk soon, she might just lose this rare opportunity to get you to their side.

She signals you to take a sit on the ground first, but you merely stare at her, waiting. “Well, it's complicated,” Darcy starts. “But before I ended up here, I saw something you need to know.”

“Go on,” you say cautiously.

She takes a deep breath. “You were dying.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“Last night, you tried to cross the boundary of the Hex,” she explains. “But as soon as you did, you started disintegrating—turning into dust.”

You stop cold. That dream where Wanda was vanishing—

Was it you all along?

Darcy continues, “We didn't know what to do, how to help you. But then the Hex started expanding—fast. I couldn't escape, and now here I am.”

You barely register her words as you try to piece together your memory of last night. Is that why you felt déjà vu on the way here? Because you've been here before? Because you've actually been outside?

Could Wanda be the reason you can't recall what Darcy claims happened last night? Has your wife really been manipulating you? Using her powers to deceive you?

“No,” you shake your head firmly. Wanda wouldn't do that to you, wouldn't impose her will on you, let alone on thousands of people.

“I'm sorry,” Darcy murmurs, her voice low. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I wish I was lying, but I swear I’m not.”

“Prove it,” you demand, in a last, desperate attempt to cling to the life you've built here with Wanda, to preserve the trust you've placed in the person who means the world to you.

“Fine,” Darcy exhales sharply, pausing to think for a moment. “I got it!”

You cross your arms, waiting expectantly.

“Do you remember your assistant, Geraldine?” she asks.

The fact that Darcy knows about her already turns your stomach. It means she wasn't lying about the broadcasts outside, where people have been monitoring the situation all this time.

You nod, unable to speak. The fear grips you so tightly you worry you might lose the dinner you had just an hour ago.

“Geraldine isn't who you think she is. Her real name is Monica Rambeau. She's an agent from S.W.O.R.D., sent here to investigate what's happening inside Westview.”

“That doesn't make sense. I've known Geraldine for months—”

“Have you?” Darcy counters gently. “Think about it. Can you recall anything about her life outside of work? Her family? Where she lives?”

You open your mouth to respond but realize you can't summon any details. It's as if those memories are just... missing.

Just like every other little detail in your life.

“I… I can’t—”

Darcy nods sympathetically. “That's because you’re all just playing a role here. Monica tried to reach out to her, to help her see what's real, but Wanda forced her out of this reality.”

Geraldine's resignation is a vague memory, nothing more. If Wanda has been pulling the strings, she's been selective with the memories she's allowed you to keep. That much is certain.

And you’re conflicted. No, that’s not quite right—you’re overwhelmed. You feel betrayed, most prominently. But beneath that, there’s guilt. Deep down, you’re troubled by the thought of how much pain Wanda must have endured to go to such lengths. It pains you too, knowing she suffered so greatly. If this isn't going away anytime soon, that means she's still hurting. And if you're going to agree to help Darcy figure this out, you’re going to do it for Wanda’s sake, not theirs.

Making this decision would be simple if not for—

You look down, your voice barely above a whisper. “And our kids? Billy and Tommy?”

Darcy looks away. “We couldn't find any records of them,” she says. “They're not documented anywhere in Westview.”

A sinking feeling grips your chest. “They're our sons—they're real.”

Darcy doesn’t say anything. Your eyes begin to sting as you walk into the middle of the deserted road.

You're not sure how long you stood there, contemplating the plight of these innocent people and the dangers looming over your family beyond this town. You gaze at the wedding ring on your finger. Being Wanda’s wife brought you nothing but joy. Being a mother to your two boys made you feel whole. Can you really let all that go?

Just as Darcy is about to check on you, having waited a while, you catch her off guard by walking back.

“What do you need me to do?”

—

Wanda's eyes dart around. “No... not here,” she whispers, recognizing her childhood home.

She thought those memories were lost—how a seemingly ordinary evening spiraled, altering her life forever. Seeing her mama and papa’s faces is a miracle in itself. Wanda had forgotten their features, unable to carry even a photograph of them for so long.

And Pietro—god, how she's missed him. He was the last sliver of Sokovia, the last piece of home she clung to before becoming an orphan in every sense of the word.

Life was simple then. It wasn’t always comfortable or peaceful, but they were happy as long as the four of them were together.

Wanda watches on, a helpless spectator as the mundane scene before her—an evening of sitcoms on the living room floor—is shattered by an explosion before the screen cuts to black.

She squeezes her eyes shut. When she dares to look again, devastation greets her. Her younger self and Pietro huddled under rubble, a Stark Industries missile mere feet away, its ominous beeping the only sound in the deafening silence.

Agatha muses, “You stared at that bomb, waiting for it to go off. Did you use a probability hex?”

“No, I…” Wanda blinks, her mind reeling . “It just never went off. It was defective. We didn’t know that. We were… we were trapped.”

“For how long?”

“Two days.”

Agatha hums, sizing up whether this incident had any real impact on Wanda’s recent exploits. Despite the trauma Wanda has endured, Agatha remains skeptical, and she steers them down another bend in memory lane.

From afar, another room takes shape—the Hydra facility, where she first encountered the Infinity Stone.

“I don’t want to go back in there.”

“The only way forward is back,” comes the terse reply.

—

Jimmy and Monica sit side by side on a surprisingly comfortable pile of hay inside one of the supply rooms of the camp, their wrists shackled behind them with cuffs this time.

“Well, at least Hayward splurged on the good hay,” Jimmy attempts at a joke, trying to twist his wrists free.

“Yeah, cause the next time I see him, I’ll be shoving them up his—” Monica bites her lip. Now’s not the time to think about all the ways she’ll make Hayward pay. Right now, their priority is getting out of these cuffs.

Reaching into his sleeve, Jimmy fumbles for a hidden pin. “Got a lockpick here. Just give me a sec—almost…”

She watches as he struggles to maneuver the pin into the cuff's lock, his fingers slipping. After several failed attempts, he lets out a frustrated huff.

“Here, let me try,” Monica says, scooting closer.

“Be my guest,” Jimmy says, sliding over the pin.

Monica grabs it, fingers deft and sure. A soft click follows. In a flash, she's free, reaching over to unlock Jimmy's cuffs.

“Impressive,” he remarks, rubbing his wrists.

“Years of field training.”

Jimmy fishes out his cellphone. “Guess they missed this in the pat-down.” He punches in a number. “Calling for backup from Quantico.”

He steps aside, murmuring into the phone, while Monica edges towards the door. She presses an ear against the rough wood, listening hard.

“Any luck?” she murmurs as he ends the call.

“They're sending a team, but we're on borrowed time,” he whispers back.

“Listen,” Monica says suddenly, holding up a hand.

Silence falls. There’s a muffled sound of chaos outside—high-pitched voices, scrambling footsteps, panicked commands.

“Is that... fighting?” Jimmy's eyes go wide.

“Sounds like it,” Monica says. “But who would be engaging Hayward's agents out here?”

“Maybe another S.W.O.R.D. team?”

She shakes her head. “Unlikely. They trust Hayward too much to send more scouts.”

The clamor grows—a cocktail of grunts, barked orders, and the dull thud of bodies smacking the ground. And then guns firing off nearby.

“This is bad,” Jimmy mutters. “We're sitting ducks. Unarmed ducks.”

Monica's gaze sweeps the area. “We need to find something to defend ourselves.” She snags a rusted metal rod from beside a stack of crates and hands it to Jimmy. “Here.”

He grabs it, his grip firm. “Better than nothing.”

She hoists a solid-looking plank. “Stay alert.”

Suddenly, the outside noises cut off, dropping the world into unnerving stillness.

“Why did it just go quiet?” Jimmy whispers.

Monica takes an offensive stance. “I don't know, but I have a feeling we're about to find out.”

Footsteps draw near—steady, unhurried. The door handle rattles slightly.

“Get ready,” she says, positioning herself beside the door.

Jimmy nods, holding his makeshift weapon at the ready.

The door creaks open slowly, and a sliver of light spills inside. They hold their breath as the door swings wider.

A shadowy figure looms at the threshold, silhouetted against the harsh daylight. Without waiting to see if this was a friend or an enemy, Monica lunges forward, swinging her plank toward the intruder. Jimmy follows suit, thrusting his metal rod in a coordinated attack.

But the figure dodges their attack like they're made of smoke. With a fluid sidestep, you evade Monica's swing, the plank slicing harmlessly through the air. Simultaneously, you pivot gracefully, ducking under Jimmy's thrust. In one seamless motion, you sweep your leg, knocking the rod from his grasp and sending it clattering across the floor.

Before they can regroup, you're behind Monica, coaxing her wrist until the plank clunks to the ground with a dull thud. Both agents stumble back, dumbstruck.

Monica’s about to charge again when you raise your hands.

“Easy,” you say hurriedly. “I’m not here to fight.”

Jimmy looks at you with utter shock and awe. “How did you—”

You smile thinly. “No time for explanations.”

Monica squints, peering harder. Something clicks. “Wait... Are you Y/N?” she murmurs in disbelief.

Recognition dawns on Jimmy’s face too. “It is you!”

You nod slowly. “I am.”

Monica keeps searching your face, like she's double-checking if it's really you. There are small differences between this you and the one in the Hex—your hair's shorter, framing a face that's sharper with…age. The lines around your eyes are deeper, and there's a hardness in them now that wasn’t there before.

“Wait, how did you escape the Hex unharmed?” Jimmy asks. “The last time you tried, it looked like you weren’t going to make it…”

You shake your head. “I didn't escape from Westview.”

“What do you mean?” Monica asks. “You're inside the Hex with Wanda, aren't you?"

“No,” you reply evenly. “That wasn’t—isn’t me.”

Just then, footsteps approach from behind. You spin around to see Clint, his bow slung casually over his shoulder.

“Well, that was quick,” you note.

He smirks lightly. “It would've been quicker if I weren’t so rusty.”

“Clint, is it true what she's saying?” Monica asks.

Clint nods solemnly. “Yeah. I made a rookie mistake by not considering the possibility that the Y/N in Westview and out here in the real world aren’t one and the same.”

Jimmy looks baffled. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“When I saw Y/N on that broadcast, I assumed she was inside the Hex. But when we saw the one from Westview disintegrating after she emerged from the barrier, that’s when I realized that something else was going on here.”

Jimmy's face screws up in confusion. “Then who was that?”

You lean back against the wall, a wistful look in your eye. “Based on what Clint told me, she's both me and not me.”

Jimmy throws up his hands. “I'm getting confused.”

“That's Wanda's version of me—the person she left behind five years ago,” you say.

Monica's eyes stretch wide as the penny drops. Is Wanda that powerful to be capable of what you’re implying?

“When you say she's Wanda's version...” She trails off, not confident to finish the thought.

“Wanda created her,” you say, as casual as if you were commenting on the weather. “Wanda doesn't know I'm still alive.”

—

“Exposure to an Infinity Stone,” Agatha muses, eyeing the memory of Wanda clad in a grimy gown that the Hydra facility dressed her into. She grimaces slightly. “That explains some of it, but not all.”

With a subtle gesture of her hand, another door materializes—a portal to another place, another time. Another memory—but this time, not a painful one. Wanda doesn't hesitate this time and walks towards it. There’s no choice in the matter, really. Might as well get it over with.

Behind the door is a well-lit kitchen. The countertops were sleek and clean, aside from an open jar of peanut butter and a half-empty jar of jelly sitting next to a loaf of bread. A butter knife rested on a plate smeared with both spreads, and a glass of water sat nearby, condensation pooling in a faint ring on the stone surface.

You were standing at the large kitchen island, carefully cutting the corners of your sandwich when Vision phased directly through the wall to your left.

“Jesus!” you yelled in surprise, the knife slipping from your hand and clattering against the plate.

“Well, well,” Agatha drawls, leaning back with an amused smirk as she turns to Wanda. “I must admit, I never pictured her as the type to take the Lord’s name in vain. Your wife looks like such a proper lady here in Westview, dear.”

Wanda remains motionless, her entire focus on you as this memory comes rushing back to her. You weren’t even friends yet, and Wanda had already noticed how distant you kept yourself from her. It wasn’t hostility, exactly, but it was clear you didn’t like her much back then. And she couldn’t blame you.

“My apologies,” Vision said.

You scolded him for announcing himself that way before he formally introduced himself to you. With a sigh, you told him you already knew who he was. Without missing a beat, Vision asked what food you were preparing.

“It's a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“The coloration is intriguing,” Vision noted. “I haven't encountered many purple foods in my lifetime.”

To Agatha, the exchange seems utterly trivial—and not to mention, boring. Yet, it only makes her more curious about why this particular memory has surfaced.

“Speaking of food,” Vision began, “Miss Maximoff hasn’t eaten. Nothing in over twelve hours.”

You were just about to take your first bite, but the mention of Wanda made you freeze.

“And why is that my problem?”

“Given that her quarters are adjacent to yours, I thought you might be concerned,” Vision said.

“Concerned? About the person who messed with my head? Hard pass.”

“Oh,” Agatha chimes in, continuing her unsolicited commentary. “Was your wife not particularly fond of you in the beginning?”

Wanda shakes her head slowly. “She hated me.”

Agatha’s grin widens. “And that drew you to her? Well, aren’t we a little kinky.”

The memory continues with Vision gently reprimanding you about the poisonous effects of resentment. You brushed it off with a sharp retort, making it abundantly clear just how little you cared.

Vision didn’t press the matter further. “Very well. If you’ll excuse me.”

He turned to leave, this time opting for the doorway instead of phasing through the wall.

“Wait,” you called out, piquing Agatha’s interest.

Vision stopped, looking back at you expectantly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Look, just... take her something to eat. Here.” You shoved the sandwich plate toward him.

“It might be more meaningful if you delivered it yourself.”

“Yeah, that's not happening.”

He accepted the plate. “I will relay the gesture.”

“Don’t,” you rushed out. “I mean, don’t tell her it’s from me.”

Agatha scoffs like she’s watching a bad rom-com. “Enemies to lovers. My personal favorite,” she says, smirking. “Two people who can’t stand each other but still do nice things behind each other’s backs. Adorable, really.”

“She didn’t know I was there, watching the whole exchange,” Wanda says softly. “I went back to my room that night, eagerly waiting for Vision to bring me that sandwich. I was so hungry.” Her voice grows even quieter as she adds, “Y/N was the first person to do anything for me after my brother died. And she didn’t even like me.”

Agatha snaps her fingers, then gives Wanda a hard look. “Here’s the punchline, honey: you come back from the Snap—five years gone in a blink for you—and guess what? Y/N didn’t make it.”

Wanda looks stunned by the reminder that in the five years she was gone, she couldn’t shield you, couldn’t stop your demise. Clint kept silent on how it happened, and even when Wanda defiantly probed his mind, she found no clues about your death.

“She was gone,” Agatha says, circling around to meet Wanda's gaze. “But you wanted her back.”

Almost reflexively, Wanda nods. “I did,” she murmurs. “I wanted her back.”

The segment shifts seamlessly to a serene lakeside setting. It's a somber day—the day of Tony Stark's funeral. Wanda of this memory stood alone, gaze lost on the serene water, while members of the Avengers paid their subdued respects to Pepper Potts in a slow procession.

It’s Clint who noticed she’d been standing there a long time already.

“Hey,” he murmured, the nippy weather forcing his hands in his pockets as he joined Wanda’s side. “You holding up okay?”

Wanda smiled faintly. “As well as can be expected.”

He nodded, sharing her view of the gray lake. “It’s tough, losing someone like Tony. Feels like we’ve been bleeding pieces of ourselves.”

Wanda sighed. “But it's not just Tony, isn’t it?” This funeral should’ve also been for everyone they lost. Natasha, Vision…

You.

“Counting our losses would just do us more harm than good, kid,” Clint said.

She gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “I just... I miss them.”

Clint's hand found her shoulder. “I get it. I miss them too.”

Wanda drew a ragged breath, but these days, it felt like no amount of air was enough.

“All I've ever known is loss,” she whispered. “You'd think I'd be used to it by now, that it wouldn't hurt as much as when I lost my parents, or Pietro. But this…” Her voice faltered. “Losing Y/N cut the deepest.”

Clint squeezed her shoulder. It’s meant to be comforting but Wanda felt nothing.

“I’m sorry, kid.”

“I shouldn’t have been brought back,” Wanda said, stepping back, causing Clint’s hand to fall away.

“Don't say that. Y/N would've done everything for you to come back,” he said.

She turned to him, tears brimming in her eyes. “And I would've done everything I could for her to still be here—with me.”

Wanda watches herself in the memory, turning her back on Clint without a word. She didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Didn’t pay her respects to Stark’s widow. She slipped into the driver’s seat of the car you used to own after Clint turned it over to her.

The road led her to a quiet cemetery not too far away. She parked along a gravel path and walked among the rows of headstones until she reached yours. Seeing your name etched in stone brought a fresh wave of grief crashing over her.

Dropping to her knees, Wanda was wracked with sobs, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. She cried until the tears refused to come, her body spent from the depth of her grief. Hours seemed to pass before she finally rose, shaky and streaked with tears. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and headed back to the car. Slumping into the driver's seat, she allowed herself a few more moments of inaction. In search of some small comfort, she flipped open the glove compartment and fished out your favorite CD.

As she rummaged through the assorted items, her fingers brushed against an unfamiliar envelope tucked at the back. Intrigued, she pulled it out and examined it. Her name was written on the front in your unmistakable handwriting.

With hands that trembled like leaves, she tore it open. Inside, there was a simple, elegant ring—the one she bought for you—and a folded brochure. It’s a map of a small New Jersey town. A plot of land was circled in aggressive red, and in a heart-shaped scribbled below, you've written, Where Maximoff will torment me for the rest of our days.

A smile, bittersweet and crooked, crawled its way to her face. The idea of a future you’d dared to dream together flooded her with both joy and heartache.

Compelled by a sudden urge to see this dream firsthand, Wanda started the car and set off towards New Jersey. The journey passed in a blur, her mind occupied with thoughts of what could have been. Hours later, she arrived at the ghostly town, its structures forgotten in time, lagging behind the rest of the world by at least a decade.

Following the map, she drove to the marked lot—a field overrun with wildflowers and framed by a quaint white picket fence. She walked to the center of the lot, your ring clenched tight in her fist. As the sun dipped low, it draped everything in a golden light. Right then, the full weight of her pain hit her like a freight train.

And when it happened, it started with a tingling sensation at the back of her neck, a subtle prickling that grew into an all-consuming fervor. Beneath her, the earth whispered of transformations, subtle yet insistent, as reality bended, acquiescing to the sheer force of her will.

Her powers gradually rose, a resurgent tide swelling from the emptiness that had, until this moment, consumed her. She released a primal scream as she unknowingly reshaped her surroundings—houses and streets morphed, relationships and identities changed—all molded from her memories and desires. Even the very colors of reality altered around her.

But she paid no heed to the unprecedented heights of her abilities. Her only focus was the release—the desperate emptying of her being, striving to purge the agonizing pain she’d felt since discovering you were gone.

With each exertion, she felt a piece of herself ebbing away, her essence—bright and golden—intertwining with the magic, seeping into the reality she molded. The pain was exquisite, an acute contrast to the numbness that had pervaded her existence since her return. She welcomed it, the pain confirming her existence, her agency, her power after so much had been taken from her.

As the final tendrils of red weaved the last of her into this new Westview, she felt a climactic release, as if she’d finally exhaled a burden she could no longer bear. She collapsed, the world spinning dizzyingly around her, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The town pulsed—tentatively, like the first steps of a newborn—with life, a life that was both not hers and wholly of her making.

She lay on the ground, which had metamorphosed from the soft, dewy texture of soil to the cool, smooth tiles of a pristine living room. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, bracing for the afterlife, when—

Wanda gasped, her eyes instantly watering at the sight of you, unchanged, just as she remembered before the snap, before the world fell apart. Disbelief coursed through her, yet she couldn’t look away from the miracle of you, standing there within her reach.

“Wanda,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Extending a hand, you helped her to her feet, her left hand—adorned with a simple gold band—shaking as it met yours.

“Welcome home.”

A fragile smile began to trace her lips for the first time since her return. With your hand in hers, she stood at the threshold of her new home, crafted from all of her pieces.

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snorkimimi · 17 hours ago

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Reminder for every fandom writer or anyone wanting to write fanfic but is nervous to: Fanfic is not supposed to be good!! They're supposed to be fun and enjoyable, and I think many fandom spaces are forgetting that fact and it's ruining them!!

Some fanfics are just as well made, if not even better made than actual published books, and that's amazing, but that is not what the standard should be. Some of my favorites fics of all time were not beautifully written or incredibly eloquent or even realistic in the slightest! But all of my favorites were fun and enjoyable and just charming.

And that's not to say that if you enjoy writing that you shouldn't keep trying to fly higher with your writing or get better. But what I am saying is too many people get discouraged from writing fanfic in fear people will think it's "Wattpad writing" or "Not good enough" compared to the other writers in their same space. But "Wattpad writing" is literally what keeps fandoms alive!! There is a reason some of the best fanfics you'll ever read are by people in their late late 20s or 30s with full time jobs and with kids, it's because they've had that much time to practice and improve their writing.

Stop keeping yourself back from having fun or finding passionate in things you already enjoy because there are people who are better or won't appreciate your creations because I promise you there are more people who will!

This doesn't just go for writing, same thing goes for fanart or edits, fandoms are supposed to be fun, bring that back in 2025

#fanfic #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #fandom #writers on tumblr

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storm-and-starlight · 8 hours ago

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okay I really love this take on it, and I'd like to add in two more possible factorsI could see as influencing this: 1.) the modern increase in popularity of fandom/fanfic and former fic authors and 2.) Sturgeon's law.

The first one is bc fanfic is very often directly based off of a visual property -- if, for example, I'm writing Doctor Who fic featuring the Tenth Doctor, then I'll probably do my best to directly convey David Tennant's particular physicality because it's such an integral part of the character, which in prose often translates to detailed descriptions of how he's moving in every instant, and that carries over to other characters in other fandoms. If you transfer from fandom/fic-reading/fic-writing to original fiction, it makes sense to me that that habit would also transfer (eg: the problem I have with trying to convey emotion and thought by describing where the characters are looking in every single paragraph bc I'm so used to thinking about How This Actor Conveys This Emotion, and gaze is big in acting but not so much in prose), and generate that same focus on character actions without describing their interiority, as well as that over-description of every little movement.

The second one is "90% of everything is crud". Out of every category in existence, for every really good example you're gonna get a bunch of bad ones -- unless you have some kind of gatekeeping process in place. (To be clear: gatekeeping = bad) This was the reason I was once given for why fanfiction was seen as "low quality" for so long: trad publishing had the publishing house screening through submissions and pulling out the ones they thought were bad, so only the 10% got actually published. Since the barrier for posting and sharing is so much lower on the internet and there's no one going around rejecting fanfic for "not being good enough", you didn't just get the 10%, you got all of it, from the incredibly crazy good stuff to the bottom of the barrel. I bring this up bc lately, it seems like self-publishing is becoming more and more popular (to be clear: THIS IS GOOD), which means that you're getting less of the screening publishing houses used to do, so just. more of the crud slips through. There have always been absolutely terribly written-books (pretty sure "crucifix nail nipples" (if you don't know what that is the story is on thebibliosphere 's blog) predates this trend and. uh. well.), we're just seeing more of them lately because it's getting easier and easier to share you're writing without someone else deciding if it's "good enough".

A lot of fiction these days reads as if—as I saw Peter Raleigh put it the other day, and as I’ve discussed it before—the author is trying to describe a video playing in their mind. Often there is little or no interiority. Scenes play out in “real time” without summary. First-person POV stories describe things the character can’t see, but a distant camera could. There’s an overemphasis on characters’ outfits and facial expressions, including my personal pet peeve: the “reaction shot round-up” in which we get a description of every character’s reaction to something as if a camera was cutting between sitcom actors.

When I talk with other creative writing professors, we all seem to agree that interiority is disappearing. Even in first-person POV stories, younger writers often skip describing their character’s hopes, dreams, fears, thoughts, memories, or reactions. This trend is hardly limited to young writers though. I was speaking to an editor yesterday who agreed interiority has largely vanished from commercial fiction, and I think you increasingly notice its absence even in works shelved as “literary fiction.” When interiority does appear on the page, it is often brief and redundant with the dialogue and action. All of this is a great shame. Interiority is perhaps the prime example of an advantage prose as a medium holds over other artforms.

fascinated by this article, "Turning Off the TV in Your Mind," about the influences of visual narratives on writing prose narratives. i def notice the two things i excerpted above in fanfic, which i guess makes even more sense as most of the fic i read is for tv and film. i will also be thinking about its discussion of time in prose - i think that's something i often struggle with and i will try to be more conscious of the differences between screen and page next time i'm writing.

#there's also the issue that actual publishing houses seem to be dropping their standards #but I don't know enough about that to really discuss it properly #also I'm not tagging thebibliosphere but it's a tumblr blog you can find it easily

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jack-kellys · 2 days ago

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so we all know life is a circle. thus fandom is a circle. we see things come back around like the de/twinkification of racetrack higgins. or cowboy versus artist jack kelly. or "mom" friend david jacobs and the perpetual need to make the newsies some kind of heteronormative family. and yet again we've found our way back to the anti katherine pulitzer arc of her "getting in the way" of jack and davey's popular subtextual/fanon relationship. (yes im late nevermind that.)

now, not being a katherine fan is different than being anti-katherine. not being a katherine fan means you might have criticisms like "i'm not sure how she serves the newsies narrative better than, say, sarah jacobs, as sarah is more aligned with the newsies contextually/societally and katherine is very distant and rich lol", or even "i'm not a big fan of how katherine seems to be tired of jack's shit for most of the play and then 'suddenly' finds romantic interest in him within one song".

but being anti-singular-young-woman-character because of a ship between the main two boys is. a tired take is it not? again with the circle, we've had this discourse already and its been cut out. since 2012 and 2017 we been talking about this girl and her value, but not in the context we should be.

(because the context we should be talking about it in is a newsies 1992 versus newsies broadway context, not an anti-katherine context, but i digress.)

katherine's value. what is there to mine from? she is an extremely young woman reporter, 17-18 years old, whose article makes the front page of the new york sun. since she writes under a pseudonym, i'm presuming she writes with skill well above her age to be published at all (yes, even writing vaudeville reviews). in past productions she either finds the newsies at jacobi's because she saw the walk-out (TWWK) from inside The World (UK), or jack kelly simply interests her enough for her to seek him out again (Broadway/Tour/Live). she is unsure about herself as a writer despite her skill which is made clear in her song. she is rich. she did not need to have a career and was encouraged not to. pulitzer is her father and she does not get along with him. she matches jack word for word, often with davey at her side. she mills comfortably about the newsies through the second act and has a friendship of some kind with specs specifically. she also literally says "that's a face [jack's] that could save us all from sinking in the ocean/like someone said 'power tends to corrupt'" essentially prophesying the act 2 betrayal. which is crazy.

you can draw your own conclusions from the above, but all of it is essentially canon? right? so maybe you don't have to be a fan of all of it, but you're really going to tell me absolutely none of this is compelling. that none of this is something you can interpret for yourself as complex. that albert is more complex.

this is not me saying you have to include katherine in everything, because that isn't what this post is about. this is about individuals choosing to dislike or devalue katherine by only viewing her in relation to her as a romantic interest, instead of a complex character in a period piece with a full arc. yes a full arc. it's the musical that's rushed not katherine.

@we-are-inevitable speaks on this extremely well in the comments of this post as well, more in connection to katherine as being a compelling romantic interest in the context of newsies speaking in the defense of love interests/often women characters. in this post i speak on how i would navigate jack/katherine as a director, and in this post i speak on how to direct something to believe in to make it, well, believable, aside from its awful writing for both kath and jack. because again, fandom is a circle, and i literally talked about how to "fix" jatherine in august 2024. at length

#literally scheduling this 8hrs from now cause my visibility is good at like 11am-12pm lmao?????#anyway i wanted to talk ab this for a bit but the reason i didnt till a few days later is bc like.#i just feel like i HAVE already #MULTIPLE times. in 2023 too for uksies katherine bc i rly wanted a jath push for a black jack kelly #AND i feel like i talked abt this adjacently with girlsie spot conlon as well. since its quite pointed that she's a rare find round here.#katherine plumber #katherine pulitzer #as for the pseudonym- yes her dad knows she writes but idt the sun knows its her bc they'd be like to pulitzer:#'just have her write in the world'. yk. why would they let joe pulitzer's kid on their pages. they DONT KNOW ITS HER #newsies #newsies the musical #newsies broadway #livesies #newsies live #newsies uk #uksies #jack kelly #davey jacobs #mutuals #jac ily for ur comments on ur post they are truly so clear-worded and like. logical.#fizz freaks #fizz writes #maybe #rizz.analysis #<- best tag on the blog btw.

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justice-for-jacob · 3 days ago

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Justice for Jacob: Jacob Taylor Fix-It Week

From February 10-16, this blog is hosting Jacob Taylor Fix-It Week 2025 to encourage new posts and fanworks about Jacob Taylor!

Why a fix-it week instead of a general appreciation week? Because we all know his writing and storyline in canon are not great. That's where we as a fandom can step in to make things better for him!

Post about Jacob with the tag #JacobFixIt2025 during February 10-16 and we will reblog.

This does not have to be full on fanart, fanfiction, edits/gifsets, mods, etc (though these are of course beloved): even if it's a rec list of Jacob fanworks you like, bullet points of how you'd fix his storyline, or an "I think Jacob would look cool with locs" one liner post, you are welcome here.

Optional themes

You don't need to follow the themes nor post for every theme: these are just inspiration to get your brain going!

Day 1 - Feb 10: Dossier Anything you would change about Jacob's background before we meet him in 2, be it his general background or his Galaxy or Foundation storylines.

Day 2 - Feb 11: Suicide Mission 2 is the main place people meet and form opinions on Jacob. Turn things around for him in the 2 storyline.

Day 3 - Feb 12: Loyalty Mission Racist tropes ahoy. What alternate loyalty mission would you give him?

Day 4 - Feb 13: Wartime Jacob's writing does not fare much better in 3 than 2. Imagine a different approach to the Reaper War for him.

Day 5 - Feb 14: Ships It's Valentine's Day, let's treat the man! Fix a ship of his, launch a boat with someone new, or make him some friends.

Day 6 - Feb 15: Crossovers Bring out your Wakandan Jacobs, Pokémon gym leader Jacobs, Destiny Titan Jacobs, you name it. Andromeda crossovers can come too.

Day 7 - Feb 16: Free day!

Rules

Be positive: No character bashing (this doesn't mean you need to be all hearts and stars about his canon storyline, especially given that this is a fix-it event, but we can be critical of the writing without bashing characters)

Be cool: No bigotry of any kind against real people (warn for fictional bigotry) nor whitewashing

Be polite: Respect your fellow creators and different ships, put NSFW or long content under a cut, tag common triggers

Alternate submission

Since Tumblr tags can get wonky, feel free to also @ tag justice-for-jacob and/or submit a link to your post.

Timing

Mod is on the left of the international date line, meaning that you may see posts about the week starting before it is Feb 10 for you. Please don't feel rushed or think a themed post will be late ❤

Mod also works full time and has other time-intensive hobbies, so if you don't see your post reblogged, mod has probably either not seen your post yet or queued it.

#mass effect #jacob taylor #mass effect trilogy #mass effect legendary edition #mele #mass effect 2 #mass effect 3 #bioware #shaylor #thancob #what are his other ship names and i'll tag those

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chronically-ghosted · 2 days ago

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Despite 2024, we still made it to 2025! Now let's celebrate that accomplishment!

Thank you to everyone who submitted to celebrate this fandom and the wonderful people in it! Fandom is about community, and we are nothing without it. I got the warm and fuzzies reading through all the lovely submissions so I hope you feel it too! Happy New Year!

🥶 nominate a person who made the year extra special

🌟 @cavillscurls nominated @kiwisbell 🌟

and my shoutout goes to the very special @kiwisbell. not only is she the most trusted beta, kindest friend, and brilliant writer, but most recently (and excitingly) the greatest collaborator and writing partner. meeting her—and meeting her in PERSON this summer—remain the highlights of my year. i’m not going to go into my dissertation on the importance and special nature of internet friendships, but just know that the light, creativity, and openness she brings to this fandom and to my life are things i will never take for granted. i am certain our next year will be better because she’s in it! I LOVE YOU.

(this is the attached photo and i HAD to include it 😭)

🌟 @bitchesuntitled nominated @beefrobeefcal 🌟

Hooooly shit. What can I say about Kiki that I haven’t already told her?! She is an amazing human being and I aspire to be like her. She is so kind even when others are not so nice. She’s one of the most creative people I know and I absolutely love when we get on a tangent in ALL CAPS ABOUT AN IDEA. She is so willing to help anyone and everyone- whether it’s a fic or a moodboard or you’re just feeling down in the dumps about something! I think she is one of the best people in this fandom and I am so glad to have her in my life ❤️ Also just a bit of a personal story to show the kind of person she is, when I was first getting sober I was worried about how I would handle July 4th because as an American it’s a very ‘Merica fuck yeah! Let’s drink! holiday and she checked in on me multiple times during the day and let me just ramble to her about different things so that I wouldn’t be tempted to drink 🥰❤️🥰❤️ So yeah, she’s a good egg.

🌟 @sixhours nominated @bumblepony 🌟

Hello m'dear, I have an entry for your end-of-year celebration. 🥶 I wanted to give a shout-out to @bumblepony who, in addition to being a talented and prolific fic writer, has commissioned sooooooo many artworks for other TLOU fanfic writers this year (myself included). She's a gem, and this fandom is so fortunate to have her. 🥰

🌟 @bluestar22x nominated @trulybetty and @morallyinept 🌟

Can't narrow down my pick for this to one, so @trulybetty and @morallyinept are both getting nominated. Both have been so kind and supportive of me and both are super talented writers. Thank you both for your kind words and sharing your wonderful fics.

🌟 @i-love-movies nominated @thegreenkid2 🌟

I nominate @thegreenkid2 with whom I had so many lovely chats about Pedro and movies in general sometimes for hours and very late into the night. I really enjoy geeking out together over so many different things.

🌟 @sp00kymulderr nominated @dieterbravobrainrotclub 🌟

Every member of the brainrot club, for being feral and silly and fun and thoughtful and insightful in so many ways. For making my year extra special. For making so many fun memories, and helping to lighten the mood. For your dedication to the man that is Dieter Bravo.

☃️ your favorite line of fic that you wrote this year

🌟 @bluestar22x - The Outcast

Favorite line: Guiding you into your future, like you had guided him home.

Fic: The Outcast

What makes it special to you: It's hard to pick one line from a fanfic I wrote this year, but I do love this line that ends my story "The Outcast". It's the first favorite line I thought of because it's simple and calls back to how it began. The fic is very themed around finding/discovering what you need with the help of another person.

🌟 @bitchesuntitled - Xerox

Favorite line: Jamie lets out a pathetic, “Oh d-d-dear,” sounding almost identical to Piglet from Winnie the Pooh, and audibly gulps while furiously nodding his head.

Fic: Xerox

What makes it special to you: I knew from the moment I started writing this story that I wanted Xerox!Pedro to be this inexperienced bumbling idiot and thinking about him stuttering out an “Oh dear” like Piglet cracked me up so much 🤣 It still makes me laugh whenever I see it/think about it

🌨️ your favorite memory from fandom this year

🌟 @sp00kymulderr had a favorite memory with @chronically-ghosted

We created the Dieter Bravo Brainrot Club in January 2024 and it has been easily my favourite place to hangout this year. I'm so glad that it exists, and I want to shout out: YOU, Taylor. The Dieter brainrot would not even exist without you. I love how we have spent so much time together this year spiralling over That Man. I love that I got to read so many of your wonderful fics about him, and scream about him with you. I love that we created a space together for others who feel the same way. I love being your friend.

🌟 @i-love-movies had a favorite memory with @miss-mandalorian

This fandom gave me a lovely friendship with @miss-mandalorian which I cherish very much even though a big ass ocean lies between us and we have yet to meet IRL. She just recently set me the most lovely gift. 💖

🌲 your favorite piece of media you made for fandom this year

🌟 @i-love-movies is super proud of:

Gladiator 2 South Park! Pedros

"I made this set of Gladiator 2 South Park! Pedros. I haven't posted a lot of South Park! Pedro this year cause I didn't feel very creative. This one sparked some of my creativity again."

#let's celebrate #end of the year #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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rcmclachlan · 2 days ago

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2024 Tumblr Top 10

Tagged by the wonderful @liminalmemories21

How it works: Share your top 10 tumblr posts from last year! Visit this site, scroll down to "Find your Tumblr Top 10," type in your username, and select 2024. When you get the results, simply click "Share to Tumblr" and you'll get an auto-generated draft for a post with links and previews. Make any adjustments you see fit.

Surprising no one, all my top posts in 2024 were about BuckTommy. Here’s the breakdown:

1. Tommy’s just as insane as Buck (1,184 notes - Aug 15 2024)

This is probably my favorite post of the year, so I’m glad it’s sitting pretty at number one. Even after what we’ve learned about Tommy since I posted it, I still stand by it. There is no way Mr. Sure I’ll Fly Into A Hurricane On A Hunch is normal about anything.

2. Amnion (mpreg, 8x06 fix-it) (777 notes - Nov 9 2024)

This predated the mpreg tsunami that hit the fandom by about a week, but if you’ve been following me since April, you’ll know that dadvans and I had been surfing that wave all along.

3. Season 4 alternate meeting (726 notes - Aug 10 2024)

I’ve got a list as long as my arm of ways Buck and Tommy could’ve met earlier, but the idea of “what if their paths crossed the day Buck learns about Daniel” grabbed onto my ankle like a mutant west highland white terrier and wouldn’t let go.

It eventually became the fic Histocompatibility on AO3.

4. 8x05 spec fic ("Kiss me, Thomas!”) (704 notes - Oct 23 2024)

I wrote this after the first pictures of Buck’s face dropped a couple of days before the episode aired. At the time, we could only see one boil (I think the most popular theory was that a spider had laid eggs in his face, a la Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark), so I decided to have a little fun.

Apologies to the people who were scarred for life after learning what a giant weta is.

5. The 118-217 Shadow Summit headcanon (665 notes - Dec 29 2024)

A very late addition to the list! There I was with all these headcanons, still mourning the breakup and wishing the show had given us some cross-station shenanigans, when I realized I could solve all my problems with fic. Why would I try to get Buck and Tommy back together when the yahoos at the 118 and 217 could do it for me?

Then I took it a step further with this missing scene, which I had an absolute blast writing. These people are bonkers (to me).

6. “So? Tell me about the hot pilot.” (652 notes - Sep 13 2024)

I can never get enough of the Buckley siblings, and since the show finally gave us something substantial with 7x05, I decided to delve a little deeper into Buck and Maddie’s conversation about Buck’s bisexuality and the man responsible for opening his eyes to it.

It eventually became the fic Table of Contents on AO3.

7. New Year’s Eve fix-it ficlet (651 notes - Jan 1 2025)

Okay, technically it shouldn’t be on the list because I posted it in the new year, but I wrote it a couple of hours before midnight while watching Wicked with friends, so I’m including it. It was a half-baked idea that became a half-baked fic, but it seemed like people enjoyed it, so I’m taking that energy into the new year!

8. More 8x05 spec fic (missing scene) (589 notes - Oct 24 2024)

Another fic that was born out of the episode previews, which allowed me to bring my 217 OCs out to play. All I kept thinking was, ‘What was going through these people’s heads when they heard dispatch say a body had been found at the 118? Probably something along the lines of: must be Tuesday.’

9. Pregnancy kink ficlet/headcanon (526 notes - Aug 29 2024)

No explanation necessary.

10. Relative Value (499 notes - Jun 26 2024)

“Give me Uncle Tommy or give me death” has been my mantra since Tommy and Buck made out in front of God, country, and the entire First Presbyterian ER lobby. Also, it’s a headcanon of mine that all the 118 kids are obsessed with him, much to Tommy’s confusion and amusement.

It eventually became Relative Value on AO3.

Well, this was a fun little retrospective! I can’t believe this dumb show pushed me out of writer’s block limbo as hard as it did, but I’m very grateful.

Tagging: @dadvans, @screamlet, @epiphainie, @leashybebes, and @beanarie

#tumblrtop10 #bucktommy #rc's 911 fics

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minniesmutt · 2 days ago

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I know I’m a few days late to talk about this, but I still want to. I also want other’s opinions on this, and I do have a poll going for the week to see what others say, but regarding Stray Kids Offical Fan Club, as an international stay, it is not worth it in my personal opinion.

I have seen other stays on social media talk about this as well and why they won’t be getting the fan club this year. I have only been a stay since January of 2023. So, I can only speak about the fan club from last year and not the year before. But I did want to share this in case I’m weirdly the only person you ever see talk about this or value my opinion in some way (please don’t; that’s a lot of responsibility on me, and most of my opinions come off as asshole-y)

Most of what I have gathered as to why I-Stays are upset or not getting the fan club is as follows: pricing, lack of benefits, and difficulties with yes24.

Starting with yes24, it is a little hard to navigate, especially if your device is translating it to your native language since not every language can share the same words/phrases when translating from one to another. Sometimes, I have to fill in the blanks in my head when translating from Korean to English on the site, so it makes sense in my head. But that’s not the main reason I’m seeing issues.

Many I-stays are having payment issues. When they enter their card information, they get a lot of error pop-ups saying something is wrong—yes24 also will not let you use PayPal or any other payment site to pay—and I will admit I remember having this problem last year with the 4th-gen fan club, Stay Hideout. Along with the payment issues, overseas shipping for the kit is 2-3x as much as the kit. Now, the kit is a small box with photo cards, a photo book, ID badges, and lots of other little goodies that (at least for me) kinda just sit on our shrines/displays. The box is about $25 USD, and from what I remember, I paid about $80 last year.

Some people may think, “$80 isn’t too bad. I’d pay that for all that stuff!”. And if you have the money to spend that, I applaud you for having your finances sorted out like that. Not everyone can afford that. But Stays are also promised other perks within Fan Club. Part of that is Exclusive FANS content and concert perks—from what I have read, presale codes, fan club ticket prices, and stay zone. From my personal experience, I only got full FAN access— community posts, commenting, interacting with the boys, etc.— and the kit. I did not have presale codes for the tour— my stop is in May— and from what other stays have said on SM, there is nothing for those of us with the membership at the concerts like there is for K-stays. Paying way more in just shipping to receive fewer benefits because we live farther.

FANS are a whole other thing. If you don’t know and are wondering why I said “full FANS access,” that is because last year when FANS first launched, everyone, fan club or not, could comment on the community. This had led to —I did not see this happening, but I did see the message JYPE decided to put out regarding this— hate being directed towards the boys on the public forum. JYPE then changed everything and made it so that you could only really do anything on there if you had a fan club membership. This did upset a few baby stays, from what I saw, who did want to interact but had joined the fandom after the recruitment period. The “exclusive content” they told us we would get was BTS photos and photos for their birthdays. Then, they would get shared by other stays not long after they were posted.

Yes, you could sign up for events, but most of them are live, and not everyone can drop everything and get on a plane to Korea to participate in these events. Looking back, there were a few streaming events for their albums last year, and that was it. But those were then posted on the x/twitter account. So it wasn’t “exclusive”

And with FANS, the only ones actively engaging with stay are Hyunjin, Seungmin, and I.N. Chan and Changbin for a day, Felix and Lee Know are very rarely there. Han posted one thing, and he was never heard from again on FANS. I (personally) would rather pay for their bubble subscriptions than have FANS access.

Now, if you are okay with all this as an I-Stay, go ahead and buy that membership, babes! If you read this and go, “What the fuck?” I’m with you. I-stays are in the background as they cater to k-stays and j-stays, which I understand. Stray Kids is a Korean boy group first, and they do have Japanese albums and debuts (I do how that all works; I just see J-stays getting better perks than other i-stays, i.e., dome tour), so the company does focus on them more. But a lot of us I-stays are there for the streaming events. We are a very large part of their fan base, and we all know if they could do more for us, they would. Skz does not know us, but they do love us. If you just like having all their merch and stuff, it might be worth it in that aspect, but it's up to you. I just wanted to share what I saw and what I felt.

TLDR: Pay too much for two things and skz are barely active on the community app so it’s not worth it in my opinion.

#☾━━━━ [𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐒]#stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x reader smut #skz smut #skz x reader smut #stray kids smut #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #i.n

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bloggingboutburgers · 20 hours ago

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I had a wake up call about fandom by scrolling today. It's linked to both the fact that I write and my asexuality.

The post was about how people don't consider writers as artists. It remembered me a post talking about how artists are better than writers who just write fetish porn.

And it remembered me. Isn't it all that people care about when it come to fanfic anyway? Writing their otp kissing and then sleeping together?

I wrote literally only gen fic for all my teens years. You imagine that I am used to be ignored. Today, I hate posting my fics, even if I write more who are romantic.

The reviews change nothing. To me, people will never consider the effort I put in my writing because nobody kiss and have sex.

I see this outside of fandom too. Two of my favorite story get its theme ignored because it wasn't a romance despite the male and female lead being close. They just ignore everything that happen just because they deluded themselves that there were romance between them

Because what else could it be? Why else would they read or write fic?

I'm tired that they lead how society view relationship. I hate their obsession for romance and sex that I talk about on the microcosm but apply in an even worst way in real life where my parents think that my best friend talking to me less should be normal because she have a boyfriend (she's busy because of her job but they don't believe me)

It's worst in media for women even if I'll talk only about shojo here, were even if the heroine claim to not want love some stereotypical asshole with a heart of gold will steal hers later.

I hate being a writer in that environment. I hate knowing that I'll change nothing. Even if some people like my ideas I know that on a large scale it's nothing.

...OK, I know we talked about that in private since this message already, that I'm replying to this super-late and I hope I'm not reopening any old wounds, I'm so sorry if I am...

...But tbh I'm still gonna share this as it is and not comment further because... Agreed tbh. I don't write (aside from comics), I don't engage in fandom actively anymore because of such reasons, so I have no idea how to make this better, but... At least visibility of such messages has to account for something I hope, and I don't know if sharing it here will accomplish a lot, but it's the least I can do anyway.

And I'm so sorry I'm doing it so late T^T

#averinna #asexual #amatonormativity #allonormativity #aspec

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graciereadshannigram · 24 hours ago

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hii! first off, LOVE your blog it has been so helpful for me to find fic as a newer member of the hannibal fandom. could you please share your recommendations for an alternative ending to season 2, where will does choose to leave with hannibal and abigail? thank you!!🫀🦌🕰️

awww, so glad it's been useful!!

but okay, so these aren't all exact matches, but they ARE all season 2 AUs where Will decides to not go through with honey-trapping Hannibal

desire that you feed by bleakmidwinter, 22k -- murder family all happy in Italy! Abigail is there, but not really the focus of the fic.

Safehome by DBMars, 27.8k -- this was perfect and fluffy and sweet and i loved it.

Lover to your nightmare (look what you made of me) by merrythoughts, ReallyMissCoffee, 123k -- okay so trust the happy ending tag here even if it seems like it won't get there. this one is on the darker side but also, if you like a darker Will Graham, this might hit the spot.

Behind the Veil by venus_in_bloom, 65k -- Will is Hannibal's bratty wife in Florence :)))

stink in the nostrils by murdertrout, 49k -- omegaverse alternate season 2b! trust in the "angst with a happy ending" tag (i did not trust and got unnecessarily stressed lmao)

Sub Rosa by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe), printersdeadly, printersdevils (tuesdaysgone), 8.9k -- this is pretty much just smut lolol

wear my silence like a mask by bleakmidwinter, 32k -- late season 2 AU where Will realizes that he doesn't actually want to turn Hannibal in.

I shouldn't feel lonely when you're gone by Angelic_Disaster, 28.9k -- Will puts a stop to the honey trap plan when Hannibal gets in a car accident.

I Need You Like a Broken Leg by mortal_remains, 5.8k -- Will realizes he loves Hanni more than he hates him

thanks for the ask bb, hope there's something here that you enjoy!!!

xoxo, Grace

#gracie reads hannigram #ask scifibabe #hannigram #hannigram fic #hannigram fics #hannigram fic recs #hannibal #will graham #hannibal lecter #murder husbands #hugh dancy #mads mikkelsen #nbc hannibal

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bluejaysandblackbats · 3 days ago

Text

Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Bruce survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 13/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne

Chapter Thirteen: Stitched

Bruce snuck into the pool house in the manor with Harvey to clean his face up in the bathroom. “Bruce, he’s never hit me in the face before. I—. Jesus!” Harvey shouted.

Bruce rinsed out the wound with boiling water and soap before going to the kitchen with the first aid kit. “Keep it down… That doesn’t make him a good person. Just because he hits you where bruises won’t—.”

“Are you mad at me?” Harvey asked.

“No. Do I ever get mad at you for what he does? It’s not your fault that this happened. He’s your dad, but it doesn’t change how I feel about him. I’m always gonna question him as a human being. I don’t care what happens between us, I could never imagine hurting you like this,” Bruce whispered.

Harvey sighed and grabbed Bruce’s wrist as Bruce leaned forward with tissue forceps. “Wait… Wait, what are you gonna do with that?” Harvey asked.

“I’ve gotta expose the wound to see how deep it is. I’ve been practicing this since I was six years old… But this is gonna hurt a whole lot. I’m not gonna lie to you,” Bruce warned him. “Actually, go to the guest room and lay down, so I could get a better look at the cut.”

Harvey obeyed without a word, and he lay on the bed. Bruce sat by his side and used the tissue forceps to get a better look at the cut. He balled up his fists as he anticipated the sharper more concentrated pain of a needle penetrating his flesh. “Bruce, what have I done to deserve a friend like you?” Harvey whispered.

“I wasn’t a good friend to you… I should’ve told my parents a long time ago, but I was scared. I thought if I told you’d leave me and never come back… I’ve been scared of losing you all this time. I can’t handle the thought of losing you, but if I let him hurt you again, I’ll have to do something drastic,” Bruce whispered. Harvey’s eyes widened. “I wanted to do it today… The only thing that kept me from doing it was the fact that you were outside.”

Harvey winced as Bruce stitched Harvey’s eyebrow up. “I know… I know,” Bruce whispered as he inched closer to Harvey’s face. “I know it hurts… But it’s better that you get stitches now. The scar won’t be as bad if you—.” Bruce stared into Harvey’s eyes, and his heart dropped into his stomach. Harvey’s eyes were soft and filled with tears. He’d cleaned Harvey up before, but it felt different. Intimate almost.

“What did you do to him?” Harvey asked as he held onto Bruce’s leg to handle the pain. Bruce lifted his gaze just above Harvey’s eyes to his brow.

“I didn’t hit him. I just put him to sleep for a minute. He’s not hurt,” Bruce whispered.

“You didn’t go to summer camp… Did you?” Harvey asked as Bruce finished cleaning up.

“No… I learned how to fight this summer. I’m gonna keep learning… But, I don’t want my parents to know about it yet. Can you keep a secret?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” Harvey replied.

“I spent the summer in Detroit learning martial arts… And I’m gonna try and learn to box right here in Gotham,” Bruce replied before telling Harvey everything he’d been through.

Thomas intercepted the call about the boys not showing up to school and pushed a hand through his hair. “There has to be some sort of mistake… I swore I called in for both of them,” Thomas lied, “My apologies. I’ve been so exhausted from the clinic lately…”

Bruce and Harvey crept into the house, and Bruce mouthed, “Can we talk?”

Harvey tried to keep his face obscured, but Thomas noticed the stitchwork in his brow. He said goodbye and hung up before looking at both of them. “Do you mind telling me what you’re doing here at home?” Thomas asked.

“It’s my fault, Mr. Wayne—.”

“No, it isn’t. Harvey didn’t show up in our spot before school, so I went to his house. Harvey’s dad’s been beating him all these years, and I—.”

“Bruce,” Harvey interrupted him.

“I should’ve told my dad a long time ago... I handled it, Dad—.”

“What do you mean you handled it? You both could’ve gotten seriously hurt—.”

“Please don’t get the police involved, Mr. Wayne. It’s fine. Everyone’s fine,” Harvey replied.

“No more going back and forth, Harvey. You’ll stay here now. I can’t in good conscience let you go back there, and I wanna get a second look at those stitches. Did Bruce do them?” Thomas questioned. Harvey nodded as he crouched in front of Thomas. Thomas lifted his chin and looked at the stitches. “Good job, Brucie. These are nice and clean… You kids should stay home from school today.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Bruce whispered.

“And make sure you show Harvey how to care for those stitches. How’d he cut your face like that anyway, Harvey?” Thomas asked.

Harvey turned away. “He threw a bottle at me,” Harvey mumbled. Bruce’s jaw tightened.

“Bruce, you didn’t give him any painkillers… Right?” Thomas asked as he checked Harvey for signs of concussion.

“No, sir,” Bruce answered. Thomas wasn’t always reserved in a family emergency, but the shooting changed him. He never shouted or panicked anymore. When he saw something alarming, it was like he shut out all emotion and focused on the facts. And the facts were, Harvey couldn’t go home to his father ever again, not after that.

Bruce soaked in the tub while Harvey waited outside, still trying to speak to him. “I didn’t actually think it would be different. I just—. I thought we were getting too close, and I got scared,” Harvey confessed, “I didn’t want to admit that maybe I have feelings that I don’t even understand yet. Bruce, I think I’m in love with you.”

No answer. Harvey pressed his ear to the door, and he could hear something faint like music. “Bruce!” Harvey called.

“Huh?” Bruce asked.

“Nothing. Just wanted to know if you were in there,” Harvey lied. “Did you hear anything I said a minute ago?”

“No. Was it important?” Bruce asked.

“No. I’ll see you downstairs,” Harvey replied before running into Martha. She wore sweatpants and one of Thomas’ nightshirts. “Hi, Mrs. Wayne.”

“Hi, Harvey. How’re you feeling?” Martha asked as she hugged him.

“I’m okay,” Harvey whispered.

Martha let go before hugging him again. “Well, if you need anything, I’ll be upstairs,” Martha whispered.

“Okay… And, Mrs. Wayne, I like the haircut. Angelina Jolie in Hackers, right?” Harvey asked. Martha smoothed down the back of her hair and smiled. “It suits you.”

“Thank you, Harvey. Goodnight, sweetheart,” Martha whispered. And she stopped. “Harvey, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Harvey nodded. “Is it something I did?” Harvey asked.

Martha shook her head and chewed her lip as she tried to figure out how to word her question. “Did something happen to make you leave?” Martha questioned.

Harvey pulled her aside and looked into her eyes. “I was scared that maybe I was misconstruing something… I—. Can you keep a secret?” Harvey asked.

“Of course… You think you like Bruce. Don’t you?” Martha asked.

“No, I thought I liked Bruce a few months ago. I think I’m in love with him,” Harvey whispered.

“Are you going to tell him?” Martha asked. Harvey shook his head.

“I’m scared, Mrs. Wayne. I think I’d feel better keeping this to myself right now. I just didn’t want it to be my secret… Not alone, and I don’t know if Bruce should know that’s why I left,” Harvey whispered. Martha nodded.

“You’re right… He doesn’t need to know why you left. I also don’t think now is a good time, but maybe—. Maybe give it a week or two if you still want to tell him. I can’t tell you how to go about this. Just—. Just be careful with your feelings and Bruce’s. You’re both so young, and I don’t want either of you to get hurt… In the meantime, you can talk to me whenever you need to,” Martha replied. Harvey nodded. “And you know something? You are no different than you were yesterday or a few years ago. You’re still you.”

Harvey started crying. “Sorry, I—. I don’t know why that—.” Harvey couldn’t breathe through his words, but Martha understood him perfectly. She recalled what it was like for Alfred and Thomas when she found out about them. It wasn’t easy having to protect a secret that should’ve been okay to share with the world. Harvey already knew what it felt like to not be safe.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. I’m so sorry,” Martha whispered, “It’s so much for one boy… But you’re safe. This is safe.”

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