#yeahhhh that’s enough tags for this one

[dead-dove-orchid]

[hexxingcode]

Athena doodle page!!!! for the people. and also as another commission example lol. i do doodle pages but the prices for those are more complicated depending on the radio of sketchier to more complete pieces and the general composition.

they dont look exactly like this, of course, this was just something made over the course of like 2 different headaches to exemplify the possibility. details depend and so forth.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

so REVENGE, HUH? or justice, if that makes you feel better. it tastes the same when cooked just right. 'I REALLY WANTED A BROTHER.' such a shame to burn a bridge you so desperately wanted to keep, especially when it wasnt even you who started the fire. especially when you hope that not a single fragment of that bridge ever washes ashore.[MAY IT ROT FAR FROM MY SIGHTS] an unfortunate loss! atleast he has his friends.

[dreamerlynx]

me, still sitting with my laptop open in my lap: okay so you’ve basically. gone over and summarized the instructions for the assignment. good. it’s been all day you want to try actually starting?

me immediately: no

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

My gosh this is beautiful and I have to reply because this is EXACTLY why I project onto him so much (a Very Healthy reason I know. When I first read Les Mis, I cried, bc I have felt exactly that pang). Ten million percent agreed with everything you said above!

I love your point about Cosette and Marius bringing up his (long-buried) feelings of envy: the tragic irony is, Jean Valjean--so often defined by his one act of theft--feels, himself, robbed.

Because ultimately, underneath it all, Valjean has a desperate desire for love--total, enduring love. Every time Jean Valjean has allowed himself to be truly known, people have immediately turned on him; all the goodwill he's built up over years of charity and suffering fades immediately. He feels that he will always be abandoned. So he's desperate for someone to stay. What first allows him to love Cosette is her helplessness: he is her savior, so she cannot leave him. And because of how enmeshed his identity is with Cosette, becoming anything less than her everything is a brutal extraction for him. He believes, since it is all he has known, that love is total and all-consuming; therefore, he believes Cosette can only really love one person, just as he only loved her, and that person (by Right™) is Marius now. After all he has gone through, and all he has done, he feels abandoned once again--even though Cosette may still claim she loves him--because he is not her everything, so he is nothing. And that literally kills him.

Valjean's perceived abandonment by Cosette is so devastating to him because in a way, he uses Cosette as a stand-in for God. He has never believed God could love him--in fact, even in the convent, he's described as kneeling before the sister "as though afraid to kneel directly before God." He has never allowed himself to see himself as anything other than the "miserable man" he was at the start of the story. And how could God love that? Instead, he finds Cosette, who is initially desperate and has no other choice but to rely on him (and he believes as soon as she does have a choice, or if she learns who he really is, she will leave him), and uses her as the foundation of his identity. She's also the center of his virtue; with someone to care for, to sacrifice for, maybe he can earn God's love somehow. And if someone so pure could love him, maybe there was something in him that could be loved. So of course when she begins to love someone else, Valjean crumbles--her love felt secure because it was desperate, but now she can choose. And he could never imagine anyone, including God, loving him willingly.

But I love Les Mis because he's wrong!!!! He's wrong about that, and he's wrong about himself, and he's wrong about what love is!! And the story tells him so!!!

From the start of the story to the end, God has always been with him, guiding his path. The narration throughout the story makes it clear--he even recognizes "the hand of Providence" in guiding him to the bishop and the convent, in bringing him finally to the trial to save the innocent man; to stumble upon Cosette in the woods was no coincidence, nor was it chance that Cosette and Marius found him (because they were looking for him!! Because they love him!!!) right before he died. He has always been loved, wholly and forever, even in the midst of his sin and suffering.

It's a love that knows him fully, and endures.

And I love that his story ends with that.

Jean Valjean's Canon Toxic Unhealthiness around Romantic Love

( alternate titles: “Does Jean Valjean is Gay?”, or “Does Jean Valjean is Asexual?” Or: “Why is it so difficult to slap an identity/sexuality label onto Jean Valjean?” Or “LGBTPTSD+”)

I was looking at the responses to this poll about whether people interpret Jean Valjean as gay/asexual/straight or something else….and it got me thinking again about Jean Valjean’s canonical intense, complex, awful, toxic, and overwrought emotions around identity/ romantic love. I want to talk about that for a bit because I think it often gets overlooked in fandom!

I've noticed that Les Mis fandom/analysis often tends to interpret Jean Valjean as being far more content, more "at peace with himself," and more "comfortable in his own skin" than he ever is within the novel. This is also a common change in adaptations. The musical's version of Jean Valjean is great-- but he also seems a lot more self-actualized, more like he's gotten himself completely "figured out" by the end of the story. Other, bad, Les Mis adaptations — the adaptations that generally portray Jean Valjean a worse more violent person — also usually make Jean Valjean more confident in himself, more confident in his own feelings/desires, more certain that he’s entitled to certain things, and more willing to demand or take what he wants.

But one major aspect of book Jean Valjean's personality is that he does not have a healthy relationship with anything about himself. He has a tortured broken relationship with his own identity. He repeatedly thinks about “Jean Valjean” as a person outside of himself, a person who he finds frightening, repulsive, savage, and horrible— like a wild animal he needs to sedate, or beat into submission. He is obsessed with self-denial and self-repression. He is fixated on the idea that he is subhuman, that he is not allowed to want things or to pursue having any kinds of relationships with other people-- and that the most heroic thing he can do is "grab himself by the collar” and violently force himself to stay away from the things he wants. He is desperate to be loved and fixated on being unworthy of love and on denying himself love. He is absolutely not at peace with his identity: to paraphrase Jean Valjean in one of the later chapters, he believes he can only gain inner peace by “eviscerating his own entrails.”

He is never truly content with who he is, what he wants, or what kind of love he wants— and he never learns to be. The novel ends with him cutting himself off from his only family, breaking ties with the only person who loves him, and essentially slowly killing himself out of self-loathing.

There are other characters in Les Mis who seem very content with who they are and what they want. Enjolras is self-assured in his identity, and doesn’t appear to feel like there is any kind of love that is missing from his life. Whether you interpret him as gay or ace or trans or w/e, book!Enjolras is written as someone who is extremely self-assured and has a loving support system that is enough to keep him happy. But I don’t think that’s true for Jean Valjean at all XD.

And that’s why it's hard to apply labels like “aromantic” or “ace” or gay/straight/etc to Jean Valjean, when talking about his canon characterization. Those labels imply the person has a basic level of comfort with acknowledging their own desires/lack of desire/identity. And Jean Valjean never achieves that level of comfort. What “label” do you give to someone whose relationship with their identity is “I do not belong in a family, I have no right to want things, I have no right to be happy, I am outside of life, and I will never be at peace until I eviscerate my own entrails?” Is there a “self-disembowelment" pride flag? XD I've seen a lot of interpretations that go "Jean Valjean never expresses any interest in romance, he's perfectly content just to have his relationship with his daughter" but I honestly don't think that's true. Jean Valjean tries to content himself with having only Cosette. But part of why everything explodes so catastrophically in the end of the novel is because he needs more than just a paternal relationship. He doesn’t try to have a “normal” father-daughter relationship with Cosette, he tries to force his relationship with Cosette to be literally everything and everyone to him, for her to be his entire world: and it doesn’t work.

There’s a passage in the novel that talks about how all the love Valjean is capable of ends up being suppressed/sublimated into his relationship with Cosette. The love of a brother, of a friend, of a father, of a husband, the love of everything he is capable of, gets repressed so that he can throw every part of himself into being a father. There are Bad les mis adaptations that incorrectly misinterpret that passage to mean that Jean Valjean is incestuous/grooming Cosette. But in context, that’s not what the passage means at all.

The passage specifies very explicitly that Jean Valjean “did not love Cosette otherwise than as a father,” that “no marriage was possible between them,” that his feelings for her are absolutely paternal. But the passage does show how Jean Valjean is doing a very different unhealthy thing: he’s relying on Cosette to fill every single emotional void in his life.

He’s relying on parenthood to fill the grief/emptiness left behind by all the other kinds of love that he has wanted, but never been given.

To quote a bit of that passage:

Jean Valjean did not love Cosette otherwise than as a father (…) Let the reader recall the situation of heart which we have already indicated. No marriage was possible between them; not even that of souls; and yet, it is certain that their destinies were wedded. With the exception of Cosette, that is to say, with the exception of a childhood, Jean Valjean had never, in the whole of his long life, known anything of that which may be loved. The passions and loves which succeed each other had not produced in him those successive green growths, tender green or dark green, which can be seen in foliage which passes through the winter and in men who pass fifty. In short, and we have insisted on it more than once, all this interior fusion, all this whole, of which the sum total was a lofty virtue, ended in rendering Jean Valjean a father to Cosette. A strange father, forged from the grandfather, the son, the brother, and the husband, that existed in Jean Valjean; a father in whom there was included even a mother; a father who loved Cosette and adored her, and who held that child as his light, his home, his family, his country, his paradise.

Jean Valjean reminds me of a Failmode I’ve seen in a lot of different real-life parents? There are parents who cope with their own hard lives by telling themselves that parenthood is their sole reason for being alive, and who obsess over their child’s success as their only source of purpose, meaning, love, happiness, community, and validation. But it’s a bad idea to rely on one child to provide the emotional support that should be shared by friends, parents, siblings, every possible loved one, etc etc—- One child can’t actually heal you from your trauma, be a replacement for your broken relationships, pull you out of your grief, save you from your adult loneliness, etc etc etc etc.

When I see the common interpretation that Jean Valjean is perfectly content just to be the father of Cosette, I think of this line:

Thus when he saw that the end had absolutely come, that she was escaping from him, that she was slipping from his hands, that she was gliding from him, like a cloud, like water, when he had before his eyes this crushing proof: “another is the goal of her heart, another is the wish of her life; there is a dearest one, I am no longer anything but her father, I no longer exist”; when he could no longer doubt, when he said to himself: “She is going away from me!” the grief which he felt surpassed the bounds of possibility. To have done all that he had done for the purpose of ending like this! And the very idea of being nothing!

On one hand, the terrible Les mis adaptations that portray Valjean as Incest Creep are incorrect and wrong. On the other hand, though, Jean Valjean IS unhealthy about Cosette— just in a different and actually sympathetic way.

He has made fatherhood his only purpose, to replace every other purpose he could have in life. So he can’t be “just Cosette’s father.” He can’t imagine her becoming an adult and leaving the nest, like children do. What does he have if he’s not taking care of her? What is his purpose in life if she doesn’t need him to be her parent? He's not just being her father, he's relying on her to be his entire reason to exist. He hasn't been allowing himself to have things outside of her.

And speaking of things outside of Cosette: segue time. This post was supposed to be about Jean Valjean and romance, so let's switch gears and talk about his canon 'romantic experiences' more:

We’re told that in his youth he “never had a sweetheart” because he “never had time to be in love.” There is no indication that Jean Valjean never wanted to be in love. The opposite is implied. Hugo frames it as a tragedy that Jean Valjean’s does not experience young love; it’s the horror of poverty taking yet another thing from him.

Within prison, Valjean is “gloomy” and “chaste;” when he traumadumps to Montparnasse about it, he talks about women looking on galley slaves with horror and disgust. Romance, at least “normal” heterosexual romance, is no longer something that is permitted for him. Jean Valjean knows very little about romance/love/sex and it repeatedly messes up his life. He spends 19 years in the all-male environment of prison, then about a decade in the almost-all-female environment of the convent. He has very little experience with how men and women are supposed to interact. The oppression Fantine faces as a sex worker, and Cosette's relationship with Marius, are both two big 'blind spots' that he struggles with.

At one point romantic love is described as “The only misery Jean Valjean had not yet experienced, and the only one that is sweet.”

In his massive confession to Marius, he agonizes over how he is not allowed to be part of a family, and is incapable of being part of a home. He compares himself to someone sick and diseased, that poisons good and normal people with his presence, and cannot be allowed to make himself part of their families.

So Jean Valjean doesn’t frame Romance as “a thing he doesn’t want:” it’s a thing “he is not allowed to want,” it is one of the many things he is banned from wanting. It's impossible to tell what kind of things he would want, if he were allowed to want them.

One of the most interesting things to me, however, is his general attitude towards Marius/Cosette.

Obviously his first reaction to Marius snooping around is fear and resentment— he doesn’t know to interact with romance, having never experienced it, and immediately begins catastrophizing. He views Marius as a privileged booby ruining his life for something as frivolous as a love affair: it reads to me as partially envy, envy of the fact that Marius lives the kind of safe comfortable life that allows him to experience young love.

Jean Valjean added: “What does he want? A love affair! A love affair! And I? What! I have been first, the most wretched of men, and then the most unhappy, and I have traversed sixty years of life on my knees, I have suffered everything that man can suffer, I have grown old without having been young, I have lived without a family, without relatives, without friends, without life, without children, I have left my blood on every stone, on every bramble, on every mile-post, along every wall, I have been gentle, though others have been hard to me, and kind, although others have been malicious, I have become an honest man once more, in spite of everything, I have repented of the evil that I have done and have forgiven the evil that has been done to me, and at the moment when I receive my recompense, at the moment when it is all over, at the moment when I am just touching the goal, at the moment when I have what I desire, it is well, it is good, I have paid, I have earned it, all this is to take flight, all this will vanish, and I shall lose Cosette, and I shall lose my life, my joy, my soul, because it has pleased a great booby to come and lounge at the Luxembourg.”

But, even though Jean Valjean views romance as something he isn’t allowed or have or to want, views it as a threat and catastrophizes over how it will ruin his life……he seems to also put heterosexual romance on a pedestal.

The way Jean Valjean idealizes marriage is one of his weirdest character notes for me.

He views marriage as Cosette’s “happy ending.” It’s her “happily ever after” point where she won’t need him anymore, where she won’t need anyone outside of her husband. A Man And a Woman Are Meant to Get Married, It's Fate, and It Means They Will Live Happily Together Forever. Marius is “the goal of her heart, the wish of her life; her dearest one.” Nothing outside of that matters anymore.

He treats her marriage as if romantic love is inherently always more important than any kind of platonic relationships, and always takes priority over them. He later dismisses the unconventional family structure he has with Cosette, saying that despite his love for her he was only a "passerby" and was not actually her real father, because they were not biologically related.

There's a moment where Jean Valjean is described as someone whose ideal is to be angel on the inside and a bourgeois on the outside. Jean Valjean's worship of bourgeois social norms, norms he can never truly be a part of, is one of his character flaws. He has a similar "guard dog" energy as Eponine does when she defends Rue Plumet from her parents.....Eponine and Jean Valjean both become the guard dogs of a kind of romantic relationship they believe they are banned from having. Jean Valjean believes that getting Happily Straight Married in a Middle-Class Home with a Picket Fence(tm) is the ideal path for life....but believes himself broken/incapable of ever following that path. And so he instead throws his entire life into securing that future for Marius and Cosette.

In what manner was Jean Valjean to behave in relation to the happiness of Cosette and Marius? It was he who had willed that happiness, it was he who had brought it about; he had, himself, buried it in his entrails, and at that moment, when he reflected on it, he was able to enjoy the sort of satisfaction which an armorer would experience on recognizing his factory mark on a knife, on withdrawing it, all smoking, from his own breast. Cosette had Marius, Marius possessed Cosette. They had everything, even riches. And this was his doing.

TL: DR:

Jean Valjean's gender/sexuality label is “idk but he’s super fucked up about it.”

[mothsaresc4ry]

Yoko: *looks at the pile of numerous mummified animals in her dorm* Addams,, tell me again why this is necessary?

Wednesday: *turns around, eyes falling right on her Enid's friend* Enid attacked one of them. 'Sir-Pecks-a-Lot' to be exact.

Two hours earlier in Wednesday's and Enid's dorm

Enid: *jumps up after sighing for a good fifteen seconds and getting no reaction from her girlfriend* So.. I wanted to tell you something.. *gets up and makes her way over to Wedneaday's desk before leaning on it to get the goth's attention* It's been weighing on me and I need to get it off my chest..

Wednesday: *doesn't even look up from her new manuscript* Enough. I already know. You've been tailing me in the shadows, leaving strange trinkets in my locker and I caught you lurking outside the morgue on Tuesday. I've known for a few days now, that you Enid, are the stalker.

Enid:

Enid: What?! No! Oh my god.. I wanted to tell you that— ... okay, so you remember how your taxidermy raven was mysteriously missing last week?

Wednesday: *furrows her brows, looking up at her* I assumed it flew into the void. Or was claimed by death himself.

Enid: yeahhhh... about that.. I—uh.. I borrowed it because.. you know I've been trying to get back to knitting and I— well I wanted to knit it a tiny sweater.. but then it fell into the huge honey box that Eugene gave you.. I got it out but it slipped out of my hands.. right into my glitter box... AND I tried to get it off.. but it.. *shrugs*

Wednesday:

Wednesday: *left eye twitches* you desecrated my mummified bird for.. "fashion purposes"?

Enid: WELL NO— YEAH UGH it was supposed to be like.. edgy-cute! Like... death-chic! I even made him a little name tag! Look at it! *runs to her side of the room and grabs the tiny name tag that reads: Sir-Pecks-a-Lot*

Wednesday: *pinches the bridge of her nose* You are a menace to both the living and the dead. I will get my other taxidermy pets to safety.

Enid: but like.. In a loveable way right?

Wednesday: *already standing and collecting her mummified animals* I guess so.

[ijustwantogohomehogwarts]

l o o k | a t | m e

l o o k | a t | m e

Y/n and Tim are sharing a very intimate moment, and he wants nothing more than for her to look at him. Let's be honest, who doesn't want to look at him?!

Warnings and such: ummm yeahhhh....absolutely smutty...soft smut, but still smut! 18+ no minors. Some swearing and mentions of spit...definitely not proofread! let me know if I missed something?

A/N: I have a lot of smut written in general and I like it better than the soft stuff, but i like soft stuff! Not sure how I feel about this one so lmk!

ALSO: lmk what other tags i should add to these posts!

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"Look at me."

His voice was gentle but demanding, the echo of his words like a lifeline to drag me back to reality, out of this incoherent but beautiful headspace.

Look at me

Like a soft echo, something to focus on. His voice.

My back arched and hips rolled. I felt like I was on fire, and I was loving every moment of it. As I tried with any strand of willpower I had left to open my eyes, the vision of Timothée came into focus. He was beautiful. He was always beautiful, but this was a different kind of beautiful.

"Look at me," He repeated, smiling softly down at me.

With pleasure.

A few moments passed, or maybe a few hours, before my eyes grew heavy again, vision blurred as I fought against rolling my eyes back with pleasure.

I gasped loudly, a string of groans following instantly as he bent over me, his hips burrowing into mine as he thrusted deeper into me. My legs wrapped tightly around his lower back, hands clawing desperately at him. I thought, for a moment, I would die if I lost the feeling. He dropped to his elbows, caging me below him and began trailing sloppy kisses across my neck and chest, interrupted only by feverish pants and profanities which presented themselves as deep groans through gritted teeth.

"T-Tim," I gasped again, feeling his hips roll in an effort to get impossibly further inside me. My nails dug into his back before reaching for his shoulders.

I was desperate. I could feel it coursing through my body. Close wasn't close enough.

Sweat dampened curls bounced in front of my eyes and tickled my nose when he took a moment to look down at where our bodies met. That was one of his favorite sights in the world. My hand reached higher, tugging the hair at the top of his head- I needed his eyes on me. I needed him to watch me come undone beneath him. He obliged.

One hand snakes it's way under my shoulder, pulling me down to meet his thrusts. There was no way of possibly being any closer, but everything was worth a try. My hips rolled up again, head back and my shut tightly. I opened my mouth, desperate to scream out the tingling sensation that rumbled in my stomach, but nothing came out. My breath quickened and I managed a moan, but nothing near what I was feeling on the inside.

"Look...at me," Tim repeated, panting between thrusts. His arm left my shoulder, finger trailing lightly down my stomach until he reached the bundle of nerves I had between us. I didn't need to open my eyes to see the smirk on his face, but my eyes opened quickly at the warm feeling of fluid that wasn't my own landing just above where I needed him to touch me. I looked down and watched as he spit drooled again, thumb collecting it and pressing harshly against me.

I was done.

I screamed, legs shaking around him as my orgasm washed over me. He continued to fuck me through it, wave after wave of pleasure consuming my body. It was almost too much. Almost.

"Fuck!" He grunted loudly, fingers digging into my hips as he chased his own release.

The room was silent, aside from the two of us desperately trying to catch our breaths. There was no more moaning, groaning or echoing of skin against skin. I whimpered as he pulled out of me, the empty feeling consuming all of my thoughts. I hated it. Tim ran a finger up my slit, collecting whatever juices spilled out on the tip of his finger.

"Open,"

I did as I was told, the salty taste in my throat sent a new wave of excitement through my. I fought, again, to open my eyes, to take in the sight of him- sweaty and restless and fucked. Though heavy eyelids I watched him stand, pull on a pair of long forgotten boxers and run his hands though his hair. He smiled when he caught sight of me staring.

"Pretty baby," He whispered, climbing back in bed and straddled my still shaking hips. "you alright?"

"Mhmm," I mumbled, not sure if I could remember how to talk.

He smiled and bent over me, feather light kisses trailing across my face, down my neck and across my collarbones. His hair, once again, ticking my nose. I ran my fingers gently up and down his back, soothing the raised lines and crescent shaped bumps I had left against his skin. They'd be gone my morning, almost entirely anyway, but for the rest of the night, each touch was reminder and heated my body with excitement and anticipation.

"Come on," his voice echoed in my ears again as he spoke, climbing off of me again. "Let's get cleaned up."

I didn't move. I couldn't. I wanted more.

"Y/n," He cooed again. "Look at me..."

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (9 - The Sokovian Witch)

Chapter Summary: It's Halloween, and Wanda provides just enough distraction to make you forget the incident of crossing the Hex's barrier, but it inadvertently leads you back to the same spot as a Night Patroler, determined to keep your family safe. Meanwhile, Monica and Jimmy must face the consequences of their defiance. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.2k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: Happy New Year! One more chapter to go, and we'll see what really led Y/N to Westview :) and yeahhhh totally forgot to queue this for last night lol // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Isn't this beautiful?”

You're walking hand in hand with Wanda through a sunlit meadow. Wildflowers stretch out in every direction, and the sky's the bluest you've ever seen. Everything feels perfect. Wanda turns to you, her eyes reflecting the clear sky, and smiles.

You squeeze her hand a little tighter. “It is. But not as beautiful as you.”

She laughs lightly, the most melodic sound in your ear. Being with her like this, you can't imagine wanting anything more. She's not just the light of your life; she's the reason you exist. 

As you walk, you notice how the sunlight seems to glow a little brighter around her, as if she's the source of it. The thought crosses your mind that maybe she is—that without her, none of this would exist. It's a strange idea, but it feels true somehow.

But then the sky begins to darken. The colors start bleeding out, and a chill creeps into the air. Wanda’s hand in yours starts to crumble, grains of sand slipping through your fingers.

“W-Wanda?” You try to hold on, but she's disintegrating, pieces of her caught in a wind you can't feel.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers, eyes full of something like fear. You reach out to touch her cheek, but your hand passes through her like smoke. 

“Don't go,” you say, but she's already gone.

You're alone in a field that stretches forever, under a sky that's the color of nothing.

“Mom!”

The sound pulls you back. Your eyes snap open to see Billy and Tommy bouncing at the foot of your bed, both dressed in their Halloween costumes. One's a pint-sized wizard, the other's a little speedster.

“Finally! We thought you'd sleep all day,” Tommy says.

You rub your face, trying to shake off the dream. Heart pounding like you've run a marathon. 

“What time is it?”

“Time to get candy!” Billy grins, eyes bright.

“Right,” you say. “Halloween.”

As you make your way downstairs, the warm smell of pancakes and cinnamon greets you. Wanda is in the kitchen, humming softly as she waits for the toasts to be ready. She looks over her shoulder and gives you that radiant smile. 

The same exact one in your dream.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

“Morning,” you mumble in reply, pouring yourself a cup of coffee. You watch her for a moment, taking in the way the morning light catches her hair. She's so effortlessly beautiful, and for a second, you forget about your dream.

“Kids are excited,” Wanda says, setting a plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the table.

“Yeah,” you mumble distantly.

“Everything okay?”

“Just a weird dream,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee. It’s too bitter, but you don’t mind. You need something strong to wake you up more fully.

“Want to talk about it?”

You shake your head.

Wanda watches you for a moment longer, but you’re too dazed to notice. She’ll accept your silence in the meantime. “Breakfast is ready,” she says, moving on. 

As you all sit down, the conversation revolves around candy and costumes. You cut the sides off your sandwich, while the boys do most of the talking. Wanda laughs along with them, and you’re there but not there.

After breakfast, the twins don't waste any time heading out to compare notes with other kids in the neighborhood. You start clearing plates. Wanda comes up beside you.

“You're quiet today,” she says.

“Just tired,” you tell her, before wincing at your sorry excuse. Tired at eight in the morning? You could do better than that.

She touches your arm. “You sure that's all?”

The contact coerces you to consider it—consider telling her everything. How she disappeared in your dream. How it felt like losing the only thing that matters. How sometimes it feels like she's the center of everything, like without her, you'd just stop existing.

But you don't.

“Yeah,” you lie. “I'm good.”

She doesn't look entirely convinced but nods anyway. “Okay. Let me know if you want to talk.”

You watch the boys through the kitchen window. They're tearing around the yard, laughing like nothing else in the world matters. You want to keep it that way. Make this Halloween one they'll never forget.

“Do I really have to change into a costume?” you ask, glancing over at Wanda.

She giggles, pinching your cheek. “We talked about this, honey.”

“Now?”

“It’s a whole day's event, you know that.”

You groan, make a big show of it, drying your hands on the towel. “Fine, but only because it's for the kids.”

“I'll be right there with you! Make sure you wear everything—cape and all!” Wanda calls after you as you head upstairs.

Your footsteps fade up the stairs. The moment you're out of earshot, Wanda's smile falls. She grips the edge of the sink, her knuckles turning white.

Last night was too close. You almost broke through. Beyond the boundary, your body started to come apart, unraveling like a loose thread pulled too hard.

She can't let that happen again.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. Red energy crackles at her fingertips, as she tries to keep herself calm and in control. The nightmare she slipped into your mind should be enough. Enough to keep you from remembering. Enough to keep you here.

“Mom!” Billy's voice shakes her out of her thoughts. “Are you coming?”

“Be right there!” she calls, forcing brightness into her tone.

She takes a deep breath, wipes any trace of worry from her face. By the time you come back down, awkwardly adjusting the cape around your shoulders, she's composed again.

“You look amazing,” she says, her eyes warm but hiding so much.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, fiddling with the costume. “Let's get this over with.”

For now, the day ahead seems promising. Everything has to stay perfect. 

She won't let it be any other way.

—

Agnes stares out her window, eyes following the charade playing out on the street. Kids in costumes wander by, the whole neighborhood stuck in a loop of synthetic joy. She drums her fingers on the windowsill, impatience eating at her.

Messing with things from the shadows was entertaining at first. A glitch here, a nudge there—watching Wanda, supposedly the most powerful witch she'd ever met, none the wiser. For someone twisting reality itself, Wanda's awfully oblivious and somewhat naive. 

Agnes snorts to herself. All those years buried in the Darkhold, chasing after scraps of forbidden knowledge, and she never touched this level of power—actual reality manipulation. Near-perfect autonomy. It's like Wanda's playing god without reading the instruction manual.

But the novelty is wearing thin.

She needs to find out how exactly Wanda is doing all of this and tap into the source of her power. Maybe even claim it for herself. The thought sends a thrill through her veins. But first, she has to get Wanda alone, away from the distractions of her playground.

And so, a plan starts to form.

It shouldn't be too hard. She knows how to play the nosy neighbor, the concerned friend. It's worked before.

Agnes steps back from the window, a sly grin creeping across her face. She grabs a plate of warm cookies—props help sell the part—and heads for the door.

“Time to drop in on dear Wanda,” she mutters.

Tonight, she’ll make her move.

—

Back at the base, the wind knives across Monica’s face as she walks toward the Command Center. Ever since the incident, things have been... quiet (especially without Darcy’s chatter every minute). Not calm—it’s never calm given the situation—but it’s like everyone’s holding their breath, waiting for the next explosion. Monica knows that if Hayward chose to back down, they'd all be scrambling for cover in no time.

Jimmy walks beside her, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. “It’s like a ghost town in here,” he mutters under his breath.

Monica gives a curt nod. “Hayward's up to something. I can feel it.”

At the checkpoint, two guards block their way. Stern faces, their hands near holsters.

“Agent Rambeau, Agent Woo, Director Hayward wants a word,” one says.

Monica arches an eyebrow. “Funny, I was just looking for him.”

The agents don’t smile, don’t offer even the hint of small talk. Instead, they turn sharply, motioning for Monica and Jimmy to follow. Inside, Hayward stands at the center of the room, assessing the damaged drone Wanda threw at his feet. He turns as they enter, offering a tight-lipped smile.

“Monica, Agent Woo. Glad you could join us,” Hayward says.

Monica crosses her arms. “We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do,” he replies smoothly, nodding to the guards. They take a precise step back, but they remain close——close enough to remind Monica and Jimmy they aren’t free to move as they please. 

Hayward clasps his hands behind his back, his expression pulled tight with feigned regret. “Effective immediately, you’re being removed from this operation.”

Monica’s brows knit together. “Excuse me?”

“You're off this case,” he states flatly. “And you can take the FBI with you,” he adds, his eyes darting to Jimmy, dismissing him with a glance. “The FBI has no jurisdiction here. This is a S.W.O.R.D. matter.”

“With all due respect, Director Hayward, the safety of American citizens is our jurisdiction. And last I checked, this entire situation is happening on American soil.” Jimmy says. 

“Not when it involves phenomena like this one. This is above your clearance level.”

“Whatever you're planning,” Monica starts, “you can't outgun Wanda. Antagonizing her is only going to make things worse.”

Hayward shrugs, casual in the face of her warning. “We’ve assessed the risks.”

“Have you?” Monica challenges, stepping closer. The agents around her follow, startling Monica, though manages to keep her composure. “None of know what will happen if Wanda dies or loses control.”

But her words bounce off him like rain against steel. “You're becoming an impediment to this mission,” Hayward continues,“constantly advocating on behalf of super-powered individuals.”

“I’m advocating for a solution that doesn’t leave a body count in its wake!” She fires back. “If Wanda is our problem, she has to be our solution.”

Hayward lets out a short, humorless laugh, his eyes glinting with something almost cruel. “This isn’t about peaceful resolutions, Monica. This is about neutralizing a threat.”

“Your fear is clouding your judgment—”

Hayward’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Careful, Captain Rambeau. Your history with Carol Danvers is well-known. Your affinities—”

“Leave her out of this.”

Hayward tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, clearly savoring her reaction. “You’ve always had a soft spot for the enhanced. But the world doesn’t run on goodwill and second chances, Monica. Sometimes, things need to be burned down to be rebuilt.”

“Director, ignoring Monica’s insight is a mistake. She’s the only one who’s managed to make any connection with Wanda inside the Hex,” Jimmy explains in a placating manner. 

Monica shoots Jimmy a sharp glare, irritation flashing in her eyes. She hates the way he’s playing the good cop, even if she knows it’s probably the right move. What she wants is to tear Hayward apart, drag him in front of a tribunal, and make him answer for every reckless decision he’s made.

Hayward looks at Jimmy with a bored expression. “And look where that got us. An agent compromised. A situation spiraling out of control.”

“You’re not listening!” Monica yells, fists clenched tight at her sides. “We have a chance to fix this—without more people getting hurt.”

“Enough.” 

Hayward's voice drops, cold and final. He signals to the guards flanking the room. 

“Arrest them.”

Monica instinctively takes a step back. “What?”

“You heard me.” His stare doesn't waver. “You're both under arrest for insubordination and obstructing a tactical operation.”

Jimmy’s hand twitches at his side, inching toward his belt. The guards move forward, guns raised—not aimed, but ready. He scoffs in disbelief. “You can't be serious.”

“Oh, I'm dead serious.” Hayward's smile is a thin blade. “Hand over your devices.”

Monica’s eyes dart to Jimmy. They’re cornered, outnumbered, and every exit is covered. Resistance will only make things worse. Slowly, they remove their communication gear—phones, earpieces, anything that connects them to the outside world—and place them on the table.

“You're making a dangerous mistake,” she warns Hayward, but looking at all of them in the room.

“The only danger is letting you interfere any longer,” he replies, and then turns to his men. “Lock them up. They'll stay secured until the anomaly is resolved.”

The guards close in, securing their wrists with zip ties.

“This isn't over,” Monica asserts as they're led toward the door.

Hayward smirks as he finally reveals his true colors—so far removed from the man she’d known five years ago. For the first time, Monica realizes how completely she'd misjudged him. 

“For you, it is.”

—

Halloween—the one time of year that feels like pure magic, even if the other celebrations are a little hazy in your memory. The town square's a carnival of fake cobwebs and carved pumpkins, strings of orange lights draped between lampposts, jack-o'-lanterns grinning from every doorstep. 

You’re standing beside your wife, who’s dressed as a Sokovian witch—though you’re pretty sure real Sokovian witches didn’t dress like that. Not that you’re complaining. Honestly, you’re just glad the other guys in town seem distracted because you haven’t been able to stop staring since she slipped into that costume.

Billy and Tommy are off to the races, dashing back to doors they’ve already knocked on, hoping for extra candy. They compare their haul with other kids in costumes, trading them like astute business men.

Watching your family, the nightmare from last night becomes a little less real. 

“Hey there, neighbor!” Agnes materializes out of the crowd, wearing that smile of hers—one that, admittedly, is starting to creep you out. She's decked out in a witch costume, pointy hat and all. How original.

“Agnes,” you say, forcing a polite smile.

“Wanda, darling! Love the costume,” she gushes, then turns her attention to you. “We're a bit short-handed for the Halloween patrol tonight. Too many tricksters, not enough treaters, you know?” She throws you one of her signature, overly exaggerated winks. “Think you could lend a hand?”

Wanda's smile falters. “Oh, I don't think—”

“Sure,” you cut in. “Happy to help.”

Wanda looks at you, partly annoyed that you’re about to ditch her out of nowhere. “Are you sure? We were going to take the boys to the haunted hayride.”

You shrug, ignoring the nagging sense that this might lead to an argument later. “It won’t take long. Besides, better safe than sorry, right?”

Agnes beams, evidently pleased. “Fantastic! Meet us by the gazebo in ten minutes.” With that, she vanishes into the crowd as quickly as she appeared.

Once Agnes is gone, Wanda turns to you, her hands on her hips. “What's that about?”

“I just feel like... it'd be good to keep an eye on things. Make sure everyone stays safe.”

It’s a weak excuse, and you know it. Wanda knows it too. But you’re too desperate for a moment alone to clear your head.

Wanda watches you closely—suspiciously. “Is everything okay?”

“Just thought I could help out. It's a big night. Lots of kids running around.”

She reaches for your hand. “You know you can tell me if something's bothering you.”

“I'm fine,” you say, mustering a smile that wobbles at the edges but manages to settle just in time. “Really.”

“Alright,” Wanda sighs. “Just be careful.”

“Always,” you say, turning away before the doubt in her eyes anchors you.

At the gazebo, a motley crew assembles—neighbors you recognize but don't really know. Agnes flits around, assigning everyone in pairs despite some groans and protests.

Agatha eventually reaches for your arm and starts dragging you to someone. “You're with... her!” she declares, practically pushing you towards a woman adjusting a pair of oversized glasses. Agnes leans in and whispers, “I don’t think I’ve seen her around before, but I think you can handle a complete stranger, am I right?”

You're puzzled why Agnes thinks you're the best choice to pair with a newcomer, but you can't complain. It's the perfect cover to snoop around without Wanda wondering where you are.

“Hey, I’m Jane,” your newly-assigned partner says, offering a gloved hand. “Looks like we're stuck with each other for tonight.”

“I’m Y/N,” You shake her hand, a sense of déjà vu washing over you. “Have we met before?”

“I don't think so. I'm new in town.”

“Oh? Well, welcome to Westview.”

“Thanks! Happy to be here,” she says brightly. “So, where should we start our patrol?”

You glance around, considering. “Maybe we should stick to Main Street? That's where most of the activity is.”

She leans in conspiratorially. “How about we head to the southern boundary instead?”

You raise an eyebrow. “The southern boundary? That's pretty far from all the festivities.”

She shrugs with a grin. “Exactly! The perfect spot for mischief-makers to hide. We wouldn't want any trouble brewing unnoticed, right?”

Her suggestion is oddly specific, but you can't fault the logic. “Alright, southern boundary it is.”

—

“Been in town long?”

Jane sits beside you in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio that's only picking up static and oldies. She hums along to a tune you've never heard. Despite your repeated reminders, she hasn't buckled up. Instead, she's sitting casually with one foot on the seat, as if you two have been driving together like this forever.

She turns to you with a half-smile. “Just moved in yesterday.”

“From where?”

She freezes, hand hovering over the radio dial. The silence stretches uncomfortably. It's like watching a video buffer, stuck in that endless loading circle.

“From... another town,” she finally says, the words feeling rehearsed.

You glance at her. “Which town?”

She blinks rapidly, as if rebooting. “Just a small place nearby,” she says, a little too quickly.

The conversation stalls. As you drive, the houses grow sparser, streetlights fewer and farther between. You feel like you've been here before—in a distant dream. You're starting to question whether joining this patrol was the right choice instead of enjoying the night with Wanda and the kids. Actually, it's not doubt but a strange dread you're feeling now, like this is the last place you should be or there will be dire consequences.

“You sure we haven't met before?”

She gives you a non-committal look. “Pretty sure. Why do you ask?”

“It just feels like I’ve seen you before,” you say, “and like I’ve driven down this road, but I can’t remember when…”

She chuckles softly. “Maybe I just have one of those faces.”

“Maybe.”

Suddenly, a figure darts across the road.

“Watch out!” Jane yells.

You slam on the brakes. The tires screech. Jane lurches forward, her head smacking against the dashboard.

“Shit! Are you okay?” You reach over, but she pulls back, touching her forehead where a thin line of blood appears.

She sits back, eyes unfocused. “Oh my God,” she whispers. “Oh my God.”

“Let me see,” you say, but she seems more rattled by the second.

She turns to you abruptly, eyes wide with recognition. “It's you!”

“M-Me?” You're baffled.

“You’re Y/N!” She screams.

You back off a little. She's starting to act crazy, and you're preparing to bail if she turns out to be dangerous or violent. “Uh, yes. I told you my name earlier,” you say.

She shakes her head slowly. “No, I mean... you're Y/N!”

“That's what I said.” You frown. “Are you sure you're okay?”

She takes a shaky breath. “Sorry, yes. I'm not Jane. My name is Darcy Lewis, and boy, do I have something to tell you.”

[spotlightstudios]

Hijacking Ancha's rb to add this bonus doodle I did very quickly

Proof that I still can't draw motorcycles- I MEAN. Killer w/ his bike!

That Modern(ish) Tauverse AU where we have Nightmare and his four adoptive sons now has this lil collection of Bad Reference Doodles lol!

[jevilowo]

MY OPINIONS ON VARIOUS TF2 SHIPS

For funsies

SCIENCE PARTY:

fun ship, but they're GodComplex4GodComplex and I fear that would only end in disaster

TOASTED SANDVICH:

if there is one heavypyro fan on this stupid baka planet it is me. shout out to menacing quiet individuals who like violence but have a soft side fr.

BLOODY SUIT:

literally The Original toxic yaoi rivals to lovers red blue combo ship. speeding bullet and napoleon complex fans WISH they had our shared update and corresponding voice lines

BATTING HELMET: (scout n solly)

i just think it's really funny trust me on this one guys. have you seen them in the fourth comic it's a constant "yes, and" bit between the two of them. soldier's love language is choking people out.

HIT AND A MISS: (scout n pauling)

like most ms pauling ships, i'm only into it if scout's a cool lesbian. which he is not most of the time.

RED OKTOBERFEST:

AAAAAAAAAAAAA literally the ship of all time save me heavymedic save me. if they don't smooch in the next comic i will become jay pinkerton's personal sleep paralysis demon.

SPEEDING BULLET:

my feelings on it are Complicated. twas my first love (otp) in this fandom, but the overabundance of twinky uwu scout and daddy dom snoipah has built up some resentment on my part. call me back when people stop making up imaginary life problems for sniper to comfort scout over.

NAPOLEON COMPLEX: (Spy n Engie)

literally just rarjack if they were boys and not horses to me and i'm not even an mlp fan. it's alright, just doesn't really stick out to me.

SPYMA:

LITERALLY THE POWERCOUPLE EVER TRULY A LOVE STORY FOR THE AGES or at least the version that exists in my head is. i have so much made up spyma lore it's crazyyy. bonus points if they're polying up they cule with sniper it's quickly becoming my favourite genre of fanart (i have seen at maximum three)

SUPPORT SANDWICH: (spy n sniper n medic)

in my opinion, it is healthy for everyone to have at least one ship they just like bc they think it's hot. for me, that is support sandwich. not much else to say on that the fics are all banging go look them up.

SNIDOS: (sniper n GLaDOS)

hell yeah.

ADMINPAULING:

i used to like it a lot, but timelining implies ms pauling's been working for helen since her mid teens at the latest so i no longer like it. 4chan leaks my beloathed pleaseee don't make them kiss i think it would kill me in a bad way

URINE SAMPLE: (medic n sniper)

there's a lot of werewolf and vampire stuff for these two on ao3 which is pretty fun. and i'm way more likely to find sniper angst under the medicsniper tag than sb and bs which is always a plus.

FRENCH TOAST: (spyro)

have you seen that one animation where pyro gives birth to spy's child and gordon freeman is there at one point. yeahhhh. the ship's pretty cute tho spy would be sooo soft for pyro they'd light his cigarettes for him.

BOOTS AND BOMBS:

THE FORBIDDEN RED/BLU ROMANCE GOES CRAZY I ADORE IT. same team bnb is pretty banging too. bonus points if they're polying up they cule with zhanna.

SPYPAULING:

HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE. imagine. spy x pauling. yuri. that will be all.

SWORDVAN:

SWORDVAN MY LOVE!!! idk what it is about demo and sniper together but HELL YEAH TOP 5 SHIPS FR FR. shout out to the guy still writing monsterous intent, they're like single handedly carrying the swordvandom.

TEXAS TOAST:

I used to think "this is cute" but then my friend got really really into it and that hyped me up into "THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST SHIPS OF ALL TIME" territory. bonus points if they're yuri! shout out to Technicolor California, my current favourite fanfic of all time (it overtook running blind in the interal rankings). oh yeah insert mandatory "no hate to engie and pyro father son dynamic preferers" message here lol.

Ok that's enough I will cover more at some point maybe.

[creativewritersposts]

"I can't believe what I see!" - Nico Hischier

summary; Nico Hischier x reader

It's the European football championship and Nico doesn't accept any other jersey than Switzerland. It turns out it's really funny to mock him.

warning(s); none, maybe grammar errors, fluff

author's note; if you don't know Scamacca, you definitely need to check what he looks like..damn 🔥 3/4 fics today!

tags; @hockey-hischier13

--------------------------------------------------------------

"no!", Nico amost gets an heart attack after seeing you in an italian jersey.

"We are cheering for Switzerland!", Nico tries to explain you. He doesn't know what's wrong with your pretty head to do this.

You're not even Italian!

"I am cheering for Germany", you correct him. You're very proud of this jersey. When you saw the European championship of soccer this year, especially Gianluca Scamacca, you got a reason to be in party fever.

He's hot. Very hot.

"You already have a good looking, hockey boyfriend!", he argues and sits down the couch. It takes Nico many nerves to stay calm and usually he has never problems to stay chill.

You look at him, "and I'm proud of it but-", he interrupts you, "BUT?", he jumps up under electricity in his veins. There's no acceptable but for him to wear this..this thing.

"But scamacca needs support too", you tell him your mind. He doesn't need to know you already stalk his tiktok edits for hours.

"He has enough fan girls!", Nico rolls with his eyes and walks to your open kitchen to get some cold water from the fridge.

"You can cheer for Switzerland", you shrug your shoulders, completely alright with your mind.

"Fine!", Nico huffs.

It's 9 pm, Nico sitting in his Switzerland jersey, you in the Italian one. Of course Nico couldn't stay chill with the fact you're cheering for the wrong team.

"You'll cry, my swiss boys will destroy your favorite player!", he grins. He was so sure about that.

"I can't believe what i see!", you get whiny after watching your team losing. Highly losing.

It's horrible to watch with.

"Yeahhhh!", Nico screams because an Italian dude scored a goal.

"Who's the loser?", Nico dances around you. "aw you are", you look at him with an ironic face expression. What a pain in the ass.

"Be glad I love you, i need food right now", you mumble. You always been a bad loser. Walking out the living room, he steps behind you.

"I love you too", he softly kiss your lips.

"Until I met scamacca", you argue again. Of course just as a joke. You want to keep Nico forever. He's your soulmate. "I'm more of a hockey girl so you don't need to worry", you laugh and smile at him.

[yesterdayiwrote]

btw Whatsapp is holding a 'women in motorsports' dinner and Carmen is the host, which is a choice, and a effing weird one at that. there's so many women in motorsports out there to host something like that, whatsapp is Doriane's sponsor after all.

(I got two asks on this so not sure if you accidentally sent it twice anon, or if you have a thought twin somewhere!)

Yeahhhh, I've seen that and I feel exactly the same as you do on the matter, and what's annoying is I feel like we've had this exact argument about what constitutes a 'woman in motorsport' before, back when Puma put Carlos' ex gf in an ad campaign with the tag line, and Kelly was in Vogue with the same title, and yet STILL brands are doing this lazy feminism and tone deafness.

It's unfortunate that this criticism comes sharp on the heels of the book nonsense, because it gives the opportunity for it to get dismissed as 'hate' when really it's not about which wag is doing it this time, it's about the fact that brands want to appear like they're uplifting women, whilst just further imposing the limitations and boundaries they claim to be fighting against.

I get why she would accept. She's not ultimately the problem in this instance (although I have some questions about how many Merc sponsors she's suddenly partnering with, in a way that we don't see from other wags. It's giving heavy nepo and idk that it's a great look, or really aligning with her financial independence schtick she's been pushing - come on girl have some awareness)

As you say there are COUNTLESS women in motorsport who would have been a great pick to put their name to this. Women who have genuinely fought through and overcome the patriarchal hurdles that motorsport poses in order to take their place on the grid or in the paddock. Wags have not done that. Their paddock pass is afforded them purely on the basis of who they know and they do not represent women who have faced an uphill battle to be seen and heard in a male dominated industry.

And this is where the Wag culture obsession really grinds my gears, because brands do know this and are more than likely picking wags to front their events like this a) for their image, because whilst the purpose is women, they still want to use women deemed conventionally attractive to entice men to take an interest - just check out the mean comments on Doriane's appearance under her Kimmel interview. And b) for their follower counts - which don't get me started on how ig follower volume is not a meritocracy - but rather than a huge brand like WhatsApp picking someone like Doriane and using their platform to push her story and bring it to more people, they'd rather pick Carmen and have her promote their event to her cohort of followers and all the young girls who follow her who'll now mistakenly think "Oh WhatsApp cares about women!"

It's more bullshit faux feminism (much like female invest funnily enough) Like I said, she's not the architect of it, but she is complicit in it and it's disappointing all around. Doriane, Bernie Collins, Ruth Buscombe, the list of people better suited for this is endless. I think the real test is going to be (much like these Charlotte tilbury dinners) how many ACTUAL women in motorsport will be invited, or will it be another influencer event that's all for show?

[inkofthebrain]

Imperial

[Paul x F!Reader] 3013 words

Paul Atreides, Duke of Arakkis, takes the hand of the Emperor’s eldest daughter for the throne, yet neither are pleased. They know they must learn to be civil, but what will it cost them…

Tags: post-Dune 2, strays from book canon, no use of y/n, dune typical everything, Corinno!Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers kind of? (More strangers to lovers tbh) ARRANGED MARRIAGE TROPE, not proofread LOL

Warnings: Dune typical themes, motifs, and actions.

A/n: Yeahhhh let’s goooo. We actually see Paul! Requests are open for one shots, imagines, and more. Check out the new request section of my master-list for my character lists!

Previous chapter Next Chapter

Dune masterlist

Five———

[Five days before the ceremony]

As you open your eyes, you feel a sense of deja vu wash over you. Yesterday's events come rushing back, and you can't help but feel a wave of exhaustion and dread.

You sit up slowly, shaking off the lingering remnants of sleep. It takes you a moment to fully orient yourself, but you soon remember where you are and what has happened.

"Is it time already?" you ask, your voice hoarse and dry.

"Yes it is, Lady Jessica instructed I let you sleep in for a few hours. It's early afternoon my lady" Delia says, opening your curtains.

You groan softly, feeling the weight of fatigue settle in your bones. The thought of yet more preparations and appointments fills you with a mixture of anticipation and resignation.

"Very well," you say, sighing. "Let us proceed."

The exhaustion was getting to you.

You follow Delia out of your chambers, your footsteps slow and heavy. You know that the countdown to the wedding has begun, and with each passing day, the pressure and expectations grow heavier.

You wonder who this day's appointments will be with, and what tasks you will have to face. You take a deep breath, trying to steel yourself for what lies ahead.

As you and Delia traverse the hallways you look up in surprise as Paul appears around the corner, his expression serious and intense.

"My lady, may I speak with you? In private?"

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

Soon you nod, gesturing to a nearby empty chamber.

"Of course, my lord," you say, your voice soft and demure. "We can speak privately here."

You follow Paul into the small, secluded chamber, feeling a thrill of anticipation and nervousness. You have spoken to him before in meetings and at dinner, but never in private. You were acquaintances. What does he want to discuss with you so urgently?

Once the door closes he turns to you, "Are you ok?"

You nod tentatively. "Yes," you say softly, but the tone of your voice betrays the lie. You cannot deny the exhaustion and tension that has built up since your arrival on caladan.

"I am just... worn out from the day's events" you say, knowing full well that such an answer falls well short of the truth.

"You have been asleep all day" he states, catching you in your lie. "My mother told me about the early morning. I apologize for the pain that was caused"

You glance up at him, stunned by his sudden show of concern. You have never seen him express empathy, much less sympathy, towards anyone. There is a genuine warmth to his voice, and you feel a prickle of confusion at his behavior.

"It is not your fault," you say gently, forcing out a smile.

"It is the way of things. And it was necessary to determine if I would be strong enough for what lies ahead."

"Still", he says, his tone softening. "It can't have been pleasant. my apology stands." he pauses for a moment, his eyes fixed on you. Then he continues, "My mothers entire process is barbaric. No one should have to endure such things. I did not expect her to extend her horrors to you"

You nod. "Our lives are not in our hands"

He nods, seeming to understand the truth behind your words. "Perhaps that is the hardest part", he says. "The knowledge that we have no real control over our own lives. That everything we do is predestined, and the path we follow has already been laid out for us."

You feel a sense of companionship wash over you as he speaks. Here is someone who truly understands, someone who gets it. You know who has had this feeling before, and the realization makes your heart ache.

Paul pauses for a moment, as if searching for the right words to say next. Then he continues, his tone softer and more candid than you have ever heard it before.

"I sense the loneliness within you", he says, "the sense of being trapped and isolated, no matter how many people surround you."

Paul's spice tinted eyes meet yours, and for a few breaths, there is an undeniable tension between you. Then he says, barely above a whisper, "I know the darkness that haunts you." Your breath catches in your throat, as if he had reached into your soul and grasped hold of your deepest fears. You want to pull away, to maintain distance and keep your emotions in check.

You have never shared these thoughts, these feelings, with anyone. But in him, you suddenly feel the urge to bare all, to open yourself to him completely.

"i've been dreaming of Arrakis" You Mutter

He smiles at you, a faint spark of genuine amusement in his eyes. "Nightmares, I assume," he says.

There is a hint of sadness in his voice, as if he knows all too well what that particular dream means. You notice the way his gaze lingers on your face, and you wonder how much he truly knows of your inner struggles and insecurities.

You nod silently, unable to deny or dismiss the truth of the statement. Even though you had grown used to having nightmares about arrakis, this one had been particularly vivid and unsettling. You can still feel the terror of the desert and the endless sand dunes, the crushing sense of doom and helplessness.

The silence hangs heavy between you, thick and taut with unspoken sentiment.

Paul searches your eyes briefly, and then he speaks, his voice just above a whisper. "Your dreams...they tell me that you are afraid, more afraid than you have let yourself admit. Even here, in this safe space, you cannot let go of the anxiety that haunts you."

You nod, feeling yourself grow flushed as his words strike a nerve. You have worked hard to conceal your fears, to portray a facade of strength and resilience. But here, in front of him, in this moment of intimate connection and understanding, you feel yourself succumbing to his perceptive nature.

"You see too much", you say quietly, unable to deny the truth of his words.

"Perhaps I do", he says, his voice soft and sincere. “The people view us as messiahs." He takes a breath.

"It's all fabrication, and we are bound to it by duty" he sighs

You nod, understanding the weight of the expectations that surround you. "Yes, we are puppets on strings, pulled in different directions by the desires of those who hold power. they seek to use us for their own ends, and we have no choice but to play our part."

Paul pauses, his eyes hardening slightly. "But we cannot allow them to define who we truly are. Inside, beyond this facade of duty and obligation, we are still our own people. we still have our own thoughts and feelings, our own desires and dreams."

"we each have a choice", he continues, "to surrender to

those expectations and allow them to define who we are. or to cling on to our own truth, despite the consequences."

He meets your gaze, and his words carry an intensity and urgency that resonates deep within your soul.

"I promise you," he says, looking into your eyes with a serious conviction, "That whatever choice you make, whatever price you must pay, I will be by your side to shoulder the burden as long as you extend that courtesy to me as well." You nod, taking a deep breath.

“I too have a truth I wish to cling to" he says before wiping a tear from your cheek which you had not noticed fell. “I unfortunately must depart, I have a security meeting for the ceremony" he says.

"Of course", you say, your voice straining with emotion.

"Do what you must. But promise me one thing..."

"What is it?", he asks, his voice still tinged with sympathy and concern.

You take a deep breath, feeling the lingering effect of his touch on your skin. You feel the urge to speak what is in your heart, to lay bare your feelings for him, your desire for him. But you manage to reign in the impulse, and try to maintain a sense of decorum.

"That we will see each other again, before we are made husband and wife", you say, your voice faltering slightly.

He nods softly, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He understands the deep significance of this brief exchange, and the desire behind your request.

"I promise", he says, his gaze intense and sincere. "We will see each other again, and when we do, much will be made clear. Until then, take care of yourself, and remain true to your heart. It’s far from over”

"I must go now," he says, "the ceremony is only five days away, and there is much to be done before then. but rest assured" he adds, his gaze lingering on you. "we will meet again."

The following two days were filled with dress fittings, floral arrangement and decor selection, cake tasting, and many meetings.

———

[Three days before the ceremony]

The entire palace was transformed into a flurry of activity, the servants bustling around and preparing everything for the ceremony. As the bride-to-be, the majority of the preparations fell to you and your family. But unlike many girls approaching their wedding day, you had no expectations or excitement. Instead, your thoughts were consumed by the impending reunion with Paul and the knowledge of the difficult days ahead.

The mornings were typically the only time you had to yourself. You were seated adjacent to your bedroom window, looking out at the sea as you reminisced on your upbringing.

You remember being escorted through the halls of the imperial palace, your eyes drifting past the grand spectacles of art and decor to the various courtiers and officials who moved like pawns across the board.

The emperor's hand gripped yours tightly, his eyes scanning the crowded halls for threats and vulnerabilities. His presence was a shadow cast over your childhood, looming large with power and influence.

You remember the countless hours spent in tedious lessons and tutelage, the endless nights spent studying ancient history and political theory. You remember feeling a deep sense of loneliness and isolation, a sense of being confined within the walls of the imperial palace.

Irulan was easily manipulated. That is what he desired. You were a threat to him.

It was his choice to not have you trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit like your sister. He feared the power you would hold.

You feel a sudden surge of resentment at this thought. He viewed you as a threat to his own power, not a worthy successor.

The emperor never truly understood the depths of your spirit, or your innate drive for greatness. He feared you and sought to destroy you before you could discover your potential.

The resentment grows as you recall all the ways you could have been trained and guided, only to be denied those opportunities. you could have been an even greater asset to the imperial house, but he denied you that chance.

"You cannot stop fate, father" you whisper aloud to yourself.

As you wandered through the halls, being transported from chamber to chamber to meet with various specialists, you felt increasingly overwhelmed and anxious. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your arm, and you started to turn but immediately recognized Paul's firm grasp.

You wheeled around to face him, feeling a rush of relief and excitement as you saw his familiar face. Paul had appeared like a ghost in a forest, seemingly coming out of nowhere. but you were not surprised at his sudden presence, knowing the importance of this reunion.

"Well, the bride finally decides to make her appearance" he says with a faint smile, his gaze raking over your dress and appearance, taking in the details. But there is more than mockery and scorn in his expression, there is something deep and genuine.

You feel the corners of your mouth curve in a smile despite yourself, and you notice the gleam in his eyes.

"I trust they have been spoiling you?" he asks, gesturing to the entourage of servants surrounding you.

You nod, and try not to roll your eyes. "yes, they have been treating me like royalty", you say with a slight hint of mockery. "One might have forgotten that I am the subject of an arranged marriage and will not have much choice in the actual wedding itself."

Paul smirks slightly at your snarky reply, seeming to enjoy your spirited response.

"You know how it goes. it is all for the sake of appearances," he says, his tone tinged with irony. "The bride must be pampered and celebrated, even if she has little desire for the event itself."

"And what of the groom?" You ask

Paul pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering with amusement. "The groom may be equally disinterested, but he is expected to go along with the rituals and play his part. The pressure is not so great, but nonetheless a burden of duty must be shouldered."

Paul pauses, his eyes glancing beyond your shoulder, towards the swarm of servants. He gestures to them,

"But they seem quite dedicated to doing their part, so how about you let them continue to spoil you for another moment. And in the meantime, I will show you something"

he takes your arm, his touch warm and reassuring. You are surprised at the gentleness, the sudden shift in his demeanor. you allow him to lead you away from the flurry of activity, following him down a labyrinth of hallways and through several doors.

After a few minutes of walking, you arrive in a spacious office. Paul releases your arm and gestures for you to take a seat. He sits down opposite you, his expression grave and serious.

"This is something that cannot wait until the actual ceremony,” he says. "it is important that we discuss it now."

Paul's manner shifts as his mother enters the room. His expression becomes more formally composed, and he rises to his feet, offering her a slight nod.

Jessica responds in kind, the two offering silent greetings as she moves into the center of the room. You notice a slight softening in her demeanor as her son joins her, as if the two are united in this situation, however difficult it may be.

"You will not be fond of what must be done," Jessica begins

You flinch slightly at her direct statement, prepared for the news that is about to be delivered. But you also trust her wisdom and foresight, hoping that her words will provide some insight or guidance.

You study her face, noting the slight creases around her eyes and mouth, the weariness and stress apparent in her demeanor. She stands in firm control of her emotions, her tone composed and firm.

"Your father is to be charged with the attempted ratification of the Atreides house during his reign as emperor by the Great Houses of the Imperium. As Paul has been foreseen to ascend to take his place they have decided his ploy was an attempt to hoard the throne." She pauses. "He is to be executed shortly after the coronation of you as Empress and Paul as emperor"

The air is suddenly sucked out of your lungs as you feel this bombshell land in your chest.

Your father, charged with treason against the house and facing execution. For all his faults, the emperor was still your father, he shaped your life and protected you from the horrors of court life.

Your vision blurs, and your ears ring with a buzzing sound. You want to reach out to Paul or Jessica, but your limbs feel stiff and numb.

"I know this is difficult", Paul says, his voice soft but steady. "Your father was your father after all. But he had his own agenda, his own aspirations. He never desired for you to succeed him, much less become empress."

"But this changes nothing", paul says, his tone growing firm, conviction in his words despite the tragedy of the situation. "Your father has made his bed, and he must now lie in it. The ceremony will proceed as planned, and we will not allow his actions to stand in the way of our house and our destiny."

You nod, although it is with reluctance and sorrow. but you understand, deep down, that this is the only path forward. Your father may have once loved you in his own way, but he was also a man of ambition and status.

Paul and Jessica exchange a look, their expressions both sympathetic and resolute. Paul releases your hands, moving back to the center of the room.

"We will not let your father's actions deter us from our course. The ceremony will proceed, and you will be crowned as empress of the known universe."

Your breath catches in your throat as you absorb the significance of his words. You are to be the empress of the known universe, but at what cost? Your father, once so feared and powerful, now facing execution at the hands of what once was his Imperium.

You close your eyes, trying to push back against the flood of emotions threatening to sweep you away. You have no say in this matter.

"I understand", you say firmly, though your voice still trembles with grief and shock.

You feel two sets of eyes upon you, observing your response. You sense Paul's firm, almost resolute gaze, his presence a steadying force. Meanwhile, Jessica's eyes are filled with a subtle blend of sympathy and determination.

Her voice breaks the silence, her tone full of both sorrow and resolution. "You will be the greatest empress in the existence of this empire," she declares, the conviction in her voice unwavering. "Your father's legacy will fade as the empire embraces a new future with you. your father will never control you again."

———

Next chapter

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[d-apperc-adaver]

PART I

warnings: n/a, no there will be no smut, but spicy things will HEAVILY will be hinted at. sorta

plot: this chapter is more of a buildup. frustrated hopelessly in love gn reader :)

Thinking about Beetlejuice’s love life made you filled to the brim with rage. This havoc created by Delores and thinking about his past with her…lit your fuse.

It was quite obvious. You were tapping your finger obnoxiously on the table thinking about it.

And now he also has the nerve to say that Lydia was the love of his life?!! Damn that man! Damn him! Eternally!

Superficial deals for his own benefit. Or so at least you tried to convince yourself.

He was outright ridiculous at this point. The Beetlejuice you knew would’ve moved on already. And you know Beetlejuice.

You saw the man have an Elvis phase, get a fixation on speology, teach you medieval languages, lie that his middle name was Pete because he lost his shit when he heard Louis Armstrong sing Cuban Pete.

You always stayed. Just to be seemingly made out of cellophane when you tried to talk to him about anything relationship related thing. Didn’t matter whose problems were. If it weren’t about something he did in the past, a rendezvous, he would avoid it like a devil running away from holy water.

Everything made you internally explode.

He drove you crazy.

And you kept tap tapping at the surface of your table, the poor thing might just get a dent.

But the thing is, why did you even care about his poor “love choices”. Why did you put up with this then organise a mental pity party, “it should’ve been me! ME!” for yourself?

Fair enough he talked a good chunk about them and about how what a catch he is, but still. You accepted his way of being when you took the commitment of being his friend. A gross, perverted, ridiculous in every capacity and disgustingly charming ghost.

And you loved it. You were in absolute awe with his way of being.

You don’t quite remember when you started to fancy him. But in moments like this you sure do wonder why the feelings remained.

You really wished he would have seen more in you but unfortunately you seem to not have bewitchingly cursed enough eyes or some other bullshit.

But with the sound of your thoughts growing louder and louder and getting thrown off by your own feelings that you wanted gone and substantial amount of jealousy, you got back to work.

I mean. Doing him a favour. Sorting leftover business flyers..yeahhhh.

Ironically enough this was the fuel to all of your fire.

If you could say so.

“Looking for a…

LOVE CONNECTION?”

“DEAD-ICATED TO FINDING YOUR MATCH?”

It’s as if you could smell the cheap candles, satin robes and rose petals right in your face.

Makes sense to get angry at a lovey dovey flyer he planned on sending to any woman, VERY MUCH preferably a breather he would have to “woo” to do that weird wedding ritual, in his close proximity. I mean he already went ahead and conjured one for Lydia. But the worst part of this is that he seemed to have more of a romantic obsession with her now rather than his just do it for his own freedom. Ew.

So while doing that. You tried your best to keep your mind quiet from the suppressed feelings for Beetlejuice out of all ghosts, and moved to the normal classic good ol “TROUBLE WITH THE LIVING” flyers. You packed them up neatly in boxes, hell even put labels on them.

You got up from the table with a loud sigh of relief of finally getting away from things that reminded you of your adoration for the demon (oh how you’d love to just staareee all day into those big blue eyes) and rising your head up you were met with a horrifying:

“What’s got your panties in a twist hun?”

———————————————————

Hope u enjoyed the fanfic ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ thx for reading through

I’m cooking up a part two…

EDIT: THE TAGS!! How could I forget the tags… gee. I’m stuid :P

[cantwritethetword]

Donna, Human, Yes

Fic Descript: During an argument, Donna discovers that the doctor has a rather human weakness. When he insists he's not ticklish, she has to prove him wrong.

~A/N  - I RETURN FROM THE DEADDDDDDDDDD

Yes writers blocked kicked my ASS last year (aside from squealing santa, i feel like i did ok with that one hehe) but I'm back with this lil fic.

I watched the Doctor Who specials FINALLY and I cried so many times omfg it was so good to see David Tennant and Catherine Tate back together again being lil chaotic besties through all of time and space, so of course I had to write something for it !!!!

And you are bearing witness to the magic of my adhd meds in action !!! I've been so productive in the last hour it's great !!! (EDIT: didn't write this in an hour, just to be clear. took me a little while but ADHD MEDS WORKED FOR BOTH TIMES YAY)

Just something cute and fluffy af ^^ love you all <3

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @carrie-tate

Masterpost Link 

The bond between Donna and The Doctor was certainly one for the ages.

Human words couldn't do justice to the type of bond they had, at least that's what The Doctor claimed in his newer, more openly emotional regeneration. Their love was too strong for just the term of friendship, too close for anything romantically implied, too adoring to be siblings. Even the term soulmates had a particularly selective connotation to it that left a bad taste in The Doctor's mouth.

Nevertheless, it was clear they could hardly live without the other. There was enough love between them to power galaxies, and knowing their history neither would be surprised if it had.

And it was this closeness, this fierce tenderness, that led to discussions such as this. Displays of deep affection half-heartedly disguised behind harsh tones and disgruntled gestures.

"You may be a high and mighty Time Lord, but you're still an idiot." Donna huffed, as the TARDIS finally settled after takeoff.

The Doctor scoffed. "I'll try not to take that to heart, and I thought that escape went quite well!"

"YOU THOUGHT-" Donna stopped herself, breathing deeply to try and contain her shit that was threatening to lose itself. "The only reason we even STARTED to escape was because I PUSHED YOU TO THE EXIT!"

"Well yeahhhh..." The Doctor rolled his head, letting his eyes drift away from his companion's. "But-."

"But NOTHING." Donna interjected. "It's the same thing every time! You start running your mouth and saving the day, and that's wonderful, but you don't know when to stop!"

"Donna I-"

"Let me finish." She snapped, raising a pointed finger towards him and stepping closer.

The Doctor held his hands up in front of him with a gentle nod of the head.

"You drag yourself through hell, running and ranting and... and sonic-ing!"

A small snicker escaped The Doctor, but he straightened his face almost instantly after when her angry look didn't waver.

"You can't control yourself!"

He didn't dare argue.

"I always have to pull. your. arse. out.!" She accentuated each of the last words with a corresponding poke to The Doctor's torso.

And while she expected the pokes to help get her point across, she definitely was not expecting the almost childish giggle that spilled out of his mouth. Or the awkward jerk his body made to cover the ribs she had prodded.

But Donna wasn't stupid. She didn't waste any time in a state of surprise, no she jumped straight to (correct) conclusions.

"Oh no way." She grinned, creeping closer to the now incredibly flustered Time Lord.

"Now Donna," The Doctor began, his mouth twitching upwards in a nervous smile of self-betrayal. "You don't know what this is."

Donna gave a singular breathy chuckle. "Nice try sunshine, but you're not yapping your way out of this one."

"There are countless reasons why... why I would... flinch away from you like that!" He continued rambling.

"I know ticklish when I see it sweetheart." She smiled sweetly, though there was nothing sweet about the predatory glint in her eyes.

"What?!" The Doctor tensed, almost frozen in place at the mention of the word. Though quickly forced himself back into talking his way out of the situation in a faux-calm tone. "Uh, Doctor, Time Lord, no."

She smirked, stepping closer to him.

"Donna," she paused, reveling in just how much she was getting to him. "Human," she paused again, less than a few feet away from him. "Yes."

And then she lunged.

Her hands met his sides and The Doctor curled inwards, his arms tangling themselves in a fruitless effort to push her away.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sounds of Donna's fingertips clawing against the fabric of The Doctor's shirt, before he finally cracked.

Bubbly giggles spluttered out of The Doctor's chest as he folded forwards, allowing Donna to slip behind him and trap him in a bear hug. His knees slowly buckled, and (with no chance at keeping someone his height upright by herself), Donna followed his squirming body to the floor.

"Dohohohonnahaha!" He squeaked between bouts of helpless laughter, but her name was barely comprehensible amongst the childish noises she tickled out of him. "Ihihihi-!... wahahai-!... stahahaha-!..."

She chuckled, rolling her eyes as her hands climbed up into his armpits. "What was that?"

He couldn't reply with anything other than a squeal, writhing for a few seconds before his body finally submitted to the playful torture. He tried to splutter a few words out, but nothing could make its way through the torrent of giggles currently occupying his voice box. THe man had gone practically limp, aside from his hands which were still seized up like a tyrannosaurus rex.

"I never thought I'd see the day..." Donna shook her head in amusement as she skittered her fingernails around his collarbones. "That anyone would render you speechless."

"DOHOHOHON-! WAHAHAI-! IHIHIHI-!"

She laughed again. "Keep trying space man."

"IHIHIHI-! CAHAHAHA-!" He chortled, his hands suddenly free enough to slap themselves to his cheeks to cover his embarrassment.

"Whaaaat~?" She teased, rapidly poking him in one side while squeezing the other.

"IT TIHIHICKLES!" He somehow blurted out, before breaking into cackles as Donna transitioned to dual-hand squeezing. "DONNA PLEHEHEASE!"

It was Donna's turn to cackle, though hers was much shorter and much more controlled of course. "It tickles, does it? I had no idea."

Aside from the odd jolt when Donna hit a particularly sensitive spot, The Doctor had gone practically limp. All that laughter had fully sapped his energy, and he was leaning his back against Donna's chest to keep himself upright.

Taking her chance, Donna once again decided to change her position to further destroy the man. Sliding back from under him (taking care he wouldn't fall back and whack his head on the TARDIS floor - she wasn't that cruel), Donna pulled his arms from covering his face and stretched them above his head.

In his state of ticklish delirium, The Doctor didn't quite notice what was happening. Assuming she had finally taken pity on him, he focused on catching his breath with a stupid grin still stuck to his face.

That was until the moment her shins pinned his arms to the floor.

He locked eyes with her, now fully aware of just how screwed he was. With Donna kneeling above him, she had full access to the armpits she had assaulted with ticklish claws just moments ago.

"Nononono Donna you can't!" He begged, legs kicking wildly with every word. "You'll kill me!"

She shrugged, "You'll regenerate." before putting her typing skills to good use and pitter-pattering her fingertips against his underarms.

The Doctor clamped his mouth closed, thrashing his head to one side with his eyes screwed shut in a soon-to-be vain attempt to not react to the unbearable sensations radiating through his body. But even a mighty Time Lord could only hold out for so long.

After less than ten seconds (which The Doctor would later argue was a rather impressive length of time), he crumbled. The childish, high-pitched giggles returned and he was once again a mess beneath Donna's touch.

"Oh!" Donna gasped, slowing her fingers in response to the Doctor's slightly wheezy breathing. "And if you do regenerate, I'll be the first person ever to tickle two Time Lords!"

Aside from the occasional titter, The Doctor could finally gain control over himself again. He gulped mouthfuls of air as Donna climbed off his arms, and slowly sat up next to her.

"Not-" He panted, still more than a little out of breath.

Donna chuckled. "Take your time."

"Not tw-" His huffing interrupted again. "Not two."

She gave him a quizzical look.

"Even if I-... regenerate... I'm still the same... singular Time Lord." He corrected. "You've only tickled the one, and to be honest it happened a lot back on Gallifrey so you're not particularly sp-"

She barked a singular laugh, cutting him off. "God, you really don't know when to shut up."

His confusion turned to giggly panic when Donna pushed him back to the floor again and sat on top of his hips. "Nononono Donna not agAIN-!"

[sensei-venus]

Serpent-Cide (2/?)

(Unedited) (IDK what to tag for this chapter.)

(Part One|Part Two|Part Three|TBA|)

Veronica’s gaze seemed to stare into my soul to a point thought she was trying to read my thoughts. Though she wouldn't find many at this point. My only thought in the moment was trying to find a way out of this shitty situation.

“Reader can you please come over here, I have a list of students for you as well. You will need to show them around for the next week or so until they are acclimated.” she said with a serious tone. She waved a piece of paper around, pointing it in my direction. I chewed on the inside of my cheek. A few drops of blood welled in my mouth as I looked at her, but I knew people where looking at me now. I could feel their states, from both sides of the room.

This is what I dreaded about even doing this stupid thing.

Now I really did wish I would have just skipped this whole gawk feast.

I gently clawed at my backpack straps and walked over to them. Archie stepped out of the way so I could reach the other girl. I quickly and quietly took the paper from her hand. She gave only a small almost emotionless smile. It was like there was nothing there. No real feeling behind the borderline dead smile. Girls like Veronica, like Cheryl, were really good at faking those little smiles.

Just looking at her like that made me shiver a little. I tried my best to suck it up and pretend I couldn't tell it wasn't real.

Cheryl scoffed from a foot or so away from us and rolled her eyes.

“Oh of course you guys had to get tubby involved in this mess. Can't believe you talked Little Miss Lard Ass into coming out and helping you with this little degenerate fest your having.” she laughed. It echoed through the hallway. A few people laughed alongside her but I didn't pay much attention to it. It wasn't the first time she or any of these other assholes made a fat joke about me. Wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last time she heard it out of one of their mouths. I simply rolled my eyes and kept reading the paper I was given.

“Yeahhhh Cheryl, Lard Ass is just a tad bit warmer than the soul-sucking succubus that you are these days. These people came to get an education, not to get their souls ripped from their bodies in order to feed your ever-growing ego.” I muttered. It was loud enough that she scoffed in pure shock. A few people around me laughed, Betty paled a little while Veronica smirked a little. Archie’s seemed to zip his lip at the comment.

I looked up from the paper to find Cheryl glaring at me, her face turing that classic cherry red of hers. She almost looked to be steaming which was a sight for sour eyes. Digging myself into a hole with one of the biggest people in town was horrible to think about, but at this point, I didn't want to think too hard about it. Staying out of the spotlight was my thing, but dipping my toe into some drama every once in a while to piss someone like Cheryl off was worth it.

Being able to infuriate a girl like Cheryl Blossom was a treat.

A small look of genuine confusion seemed to cross some of the newcomer's faces. I didn't expect them to understand how my words burned the other girl so badly. But they would eventually learn the food chain of the school. It was just a matter of time. I could only imagine what SouthSide High’s food chain looked like. It was probably even more nasty than the one here. We had to deal with rich kids and steroid junky jocks.

They had to deal with gangbangers and regular junkies.

Both Reggie and Cheryl made a loud exit as they grew board of their surroundings. Realizing their little game was getting old for the time being.

“Any of you do a thing out of line, I'll know about it.” She hissed. Soon enough she was storming up the stairs with a group of cheerleaders. Reggie smirked in my direction. I felt like gagging at the sight. He was quick to follow Cheryl, some of the jocks close behind. The sound of their voices boomed up the staircase.

My attention was drawn back to the paper in my hand.

I felt kinda of lucky after reading over the list, I only had about four people to look after. I did find it comical that they decided to stick Jughead with me. Poor guy was already a student, he left a few weeks ago and now he's back. It's as if he was never even a student at the school, treating him like some no-name transfer student.

Said once and I'll say it again, this school blows.

The next few minutes went by in a blur as the new students flooded the table. Snatching up paper after paper until the whole table was completely picked over and cleaned. Not one single schedule or map was left. It was only a few minutes later that the excitement started to slowly die down. Small groups of southsiders started to line the hall, talking with each other and going over their schedules together. It was clear that most of them seemed to be hoping to stick together.

Wishing to be put into the same classes as one another. I could feel for them in that since, being stuck into a new school surrounded by kids that hated them already. Not just because they where in a gang, but because they came from a different side of town that was labeled a shit hole.

I tried my best to not look at them with pity, but it was hard. It was hard not to feel bad for them.

I sighed to myself and looked at the paper one more time. There was only a small scene of relief that filled me as I found one particular name, it stuck out like a thumb.

Jughead Jones, types in a bold black font.

My eyes where quick to scan the small crowed, finding his iconic beanie. That thing was like a beacon. The guy has been wearing that things since…forever? I can still remember seeing him in middle school wearing the same exact hat. He occasionally switched some of the pins on it every once in a while. But I could tell that it was the same one.

Jug and me where decent acquaintance, possibly better then my relationship with Betty. JugHead didn’t bother to make a friendship with me what so ever. He hardly asked questions, didn’t try to insert himself into my business and didn’t make a big effort to go out of his way to bother me.

Sitting in silence was good enough for the both of us.

Which was just what I wanted.

My feet carried me over to him and the little group he was talking to. Four of them stud talking about something in a small circle in whispers. As soon as I made my presence know they separated.

Looking at Jug I raised a brow, no longer did he act like the guy I knew. His stance and posture were looser than usual, more toned. He stood taller with his shoulders proud and strong.

Did Jughead grow more of a backbone sense I last saw him? Maybe hanging out in the southside did something for him. Out of nowhere I got a feeling, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stick up. Maybe Jughead finally ended up following in his dad’s footsteps. It wasn’t that out there of a possibility.

“Really can't believe they roped you into doing this. What did they threaten you with this time? It's got to be something big to get you to hang around anyone in this school.” Jug mused as he looked by way. His eyes filled with a bit of amusement. His natural sarcasm seemed to ooze out. I rolled my eyes saying “ They threatened me using the stupid ass volunteer hours, apparently I don't have any for this semester. It was either I do this or they pull something out of a hat to get me with at the end of the year. And as you can tell, no one was exactly jumping to get this opening.” I crossed my arms. He didn't say mush to that, only giving a small nod. The guy behind him, the one with the tattoo on his neck didn't seem to get it.

“What are you to scared of us? Like the rest of you shitty northsiders!” the guy almost barked. Once again rage seemed to flare up inside him, quickly bursting out of the seems. He definitely had some minor anger issues going on. His brows knitted together and his adams apple bobbed. I tried my best not to flinch at his harsh tone. Jug looked like he wanted to say something but it died on his tongue.

I snapped back “You think I really fucking care? Half of these kids have only heard about the southside, they haven't even left the this side of the tracks their whole lives. The only reason why they make a big deal about it is because it's a chain reaction of the rich people on the northside wanting to show off how classiest they are. You think I've been to the southside?” the guy was silent.

“Iv seen a bit of it but have never actually been. Last time I checked, Southsiders don't make a huge habit of coming all the way over here for fun. Iv never done anything to you guys and you haven't done anything to me. So, once again, why the fuck should I care about any of you so long as you aren't messing with me?” my tone was slightly aggravated with a sense of boredom backing it. It wasn't every day someone tried to pick a real fight with me.

Then again I had never actually met a real southside serpent before. 

There was a long pause of silence between all five of us. We all just stud around, not another word being uttered. Jughead cut the act for a moment and scratched at the back of his head. Seeming to be a bit embarrassed at the other teens outburst, even the girl next to him seemed annoyed. Unlike Jug she seemed to be more use to his outbursts, she simply rolled her eyes at him.

“Reader I-”

“No I get it Jughead, they're being cautious. But-” I paused and looked at the taller boy “Just know that I probably dislike this school and the people in it just as much as them. I don't like this school, I don't like the kids, and most of all I don't give two shits about this town. If you want to start something, take that crap to the jocks not me.” he stepped back a little bit. His face was ever so slightly relaxed. Just enough that the crease in his brow disappeared. I could still see the way his ears flushed under his dark black locks. His gaze shifted from me to the guy beside him, the shorter serpent gave him a hard look. They stared at each other for a good minute before he finally relaxed.

Jaw locked hard as he just looked back in my direction.

Shuffling a little I handed the paper still held to Jughead. He took a moment and looked it over before handing it back.

“So you got me and these guys.” he threw a thumb behind him.

“Im guessing, if you have a Toni, Fang and Sweet Pea??” I said with a little bit of question at the end. I wanted to question the name Fang but I also wanted to know the reason behind Sweet Pea. Fang was an interesting name, to say the least. But Sweet Pea? That was both sweet and odd. It wasn't a very comment nickname to my knowledge, maybe a sweet endurance kinda of thing. Never had I met someone who actually went by the nickname before on a daily basis. The girl tried to hold back a snicker, covering her mouth with her jacket sleeve which didn't go unnoticed by the others. She was quick to cough trying to cover her slip-up.

“If we could just all chill out for one second, please. Reader isn't a threat to the serpents, I can cover her on that.” Jug said looking back at his friends. They all kinds looked at each other, thinking on if they could actually trust his word. Seconds later it looked like they had reached some sort of unspoken argument. The other three nodded to one another before looking back at me.

“So do you want my help or not? Knowing you Jughead, this is a cake walk being you have already gone to school here. Do you want me to help your little friends or not? I still have to do something to at least look a little busy like I'm actually helping you guys out.” the idea to leave all of that stuff up to Jughead crossed my mind. He was smart, he could do all the stuff the school wanted me to help out with. But then it felt kinda of mean to just dump it all on him. There were three different people he would have to show around school and then to all their classes. I may be a ass in my own right but…it just seemed wrong.

“How about we split it? I already know where all of my classes are. Let's check their schedules, I'll take who ever has most of my classes and you take the ones who have more of your classes. Deal?” he quirks a brow my way. I give a small nod and watch as he collects the other's class schedules. Stepping over to me we both check over their papers.

A spark of hope went through me as I noticed only one of them seemed to have a good portion of classes with me.

Sweet Pea.

“Seems like I'll be taking Sweet Pea off your hands then.” I gave a half smile to Jug. All he did was him before stuffing the other papers into his friend's hands again. Looking over them again my eyes land on the girl. She gave me a smile but before I could even give one back, my hopes of being stuck with another girl were dashed.

The tattooed boy stepped out of the group and walked closer to me.

I could feel my eye begging to twitch behind my eyelid.

Why the fuck did “Sweet Pea” have to be what looked to be a six-three-tattooed man. One who just minutes ago was trying to get into my face.

“Well this is Sweet Pea. I'll trust you will be as nice as YOU can possibly be right. No bumping him in the hallway when you get tired of him. I know your way.”

“Please tell me you're not still mad when I left your ass in the gym that one time because you wouldn't take the hint to leave me alone.”

“Maybe I am, just a tiny bit.” he said with a bit of annoyance. Leave it to Jug to be still pissed about such a little thing.

“Now Sweet Pea, try not to bite off her head. We will meet you at lunch.” He said looking up at the other boy. Sweet Pea rolled his eyes as he watched Jughead start walking off. The girl who I could only now assume was Toni patted him on the shoulder before following Jug. Fang grinned at him and just laughed, giving him a hard slap to the should before jogging off to catch up with the other two. Sweet Pea grimaced as he watched them leave. His eyes trailed down the hall until they disappeared around a sharp corner. I couldn't help but do the same, watching them go.

“So are you going to show me around this place or what?” his voice made me shiver. It was deep and echoed. It wasn't thick but rang in my ear as he spoke. The angriness from his voice had long died. Now all that filled it was sarcasm and mischief. It was laced into a simple statement. 

“Your going to be a pain in the ass aren't you?”

All he did was smirk before ripping his schedule from my hands.

I can't have nice things can I.

(Don't worry y'all, Sweet Pea will have more attention next chapter promise! We just have to work up to it. This is a slow-building fix.😚)